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kippi Sep 20
olney transportation center.

i put my bag down in the plastic seat next to me and allow the cool musty subway air envelope my senses. the lights are too fluorescent, **** they’re bright. my chest fills with pressure, the cap at my throat holding on desperately to stay put, stay tight. don’t scream. my breath is getting harder now. why do they even hang out with that person? it doesn’t make sense to me. my music gets louder in my ears, smooth bossa nova pounding brain waves. focus on the lyrics. they make me too angry. my lungs are struggling to hang onto the air, it’s coming in and out of my nostrils too fast. my throat is getting too dry, but my water bottle is too heavy. i don’t want to pick it up, i want to keep thinking. why won’t they just listen to me? why won’t they see things my way? how long is this song? it seems like it’s been forever. i’ve passed galaxies and worlds in this subway tunnel, the stars too fast for my eyes to grasp. i can’t think my way out of this one. no amount of thoughts flying around my head can fix the necessity of simply doing nothing. my hand is forced to be empty. i need to bluff. it’s way too bright in here.


thank god this song is over. i’m going to do homework instead. i don’t like this song very much, but i’m not going to change it. maybe i should turn off the music so i can read better.

hunting park.

i think i’ll be home soon. i don’t like what they did today, i should listen to my mom more. my eyes are really heavy, i wish i went to bed earlier today. maybe i’ll take a nap when i get home.

susquehanna dauphin.
cecil b. moore.

i don’t like this stop today.


time is back up to speed. maybe i’ll go to chinatown, buy some moon cakes. the mid autumn festival passed already, i wish i could’ve gone. i don’t really care for half of the things i say i like. maybe it’s a labor of love, to lie about liking something. or maybe i just don’t have the ability to say i don’t like something. but i know i dislike things. i dislike how bright these lights are, ****. my migraine is getting stronger. i want to go home. i am going home.


my throat feels like a desert. time to put my phone down. my head hurts too much.
this is a real experience that i just had
Toothache Jun 2019
Strangers on the subway
Who I never met and never will
Say, "hey, martha", like they're hailing a taxi
And I say, "hey" back, because, I am martha.
The lights go out in the tunnels, because, the conductor thinks it's funny and,
Three murders happened in that time but, no one cared
And the conductor still does it.
That train after 1 am
The grey and green one that smokes and used to have a future,
That was, good at writing or something in high school, but, never made it to college, you know the one.
That train rolls up and its five minutes late, but it's always five minutes late so no one complains,
And I stub my toe on the way in, I forgot to, mind the gap, and
A strange stranger bumps into me,
They say, "watch where you're going sean"
And I say
Because, I'm sean,
And we all get on and no one says a word, and most of the passengers are rodents
But maybe some are marsupials
I dont know the difference.
And we sit in there for ten minutes maybe, avoiding eye contact like it's the plague,
Excepting, of course, those few that make eye contact the whole ride, like you're interesting or, appetising, or, they're blind and those are actually glass eyes that just happen to be looking your way.
And, when the train starts it lurches, it belches down the cars, because it, doesnt think anyone can hear it because its five meters underground and, no one could hear anything from down there.
And as we sit and we ride the silence turns to music, like the lack of even rustling, or bustling, or conversation to a friend, becomes the sound of collective recognition, often purposefully ignored, that no one on that train is going.
The train moves, but they dont, and, even though their stop is right around the corner, no one on that bench will ever find their corner piece, or land that gig, or get the girl, or save the day
Because in the looming washed out morning,
They're all just, simply, nothing more than, strangers, on the subway.
There was this man. At the metro station.
He held his head up high
He looked at the sky,
Splitting it up into fractions.

He had bloodstains on his shirt.
He was sure that I wouldn’t see them.
But I saw them. And the more I looked,
The redder they got.

My God.

I didn’t know whose blood was this.
But it was fresh and red like roses,
Like a woman’s kiss on man’s lips.
There was this man. And his chaoses.

His hands were shaking. They were old,
Flawed, wrinkled. Pimples
On his forehead reminded me
That one day he was a boy

And all he had was dreams.
And bloodstains on his jeans:
He broke his knees
While trying to seize

The moment.

He owned it. Now his shoulders
Bend over. His shirt is just as old as he is.
And there are bloodstains, redder then
His cheeks.

So there he is. He sits at the metro station.
Wondering why the sky
The ******* sky
The blue-but-not-red sky
Is splitting up into fractions

And why his hands got redder.
He better
Still be a boy with dreams of joy.
But bloodstains are all

That matter.
phlwest Aug 2020
I only realize I’m late once I notice that the woman with
Medusa’s curls isn’t at the platform.
People as units of measure.
The clock of the world.
S Aug 2020
I want to write you messages
on small pieces of paper
and put them in the corners
of the advertisements on the A train
in the hopes that you will see them
and recognize my handwriting
and think of me.
Maria Mitea May 2020
just checking in as
madness and earth are shaking,
while the sun rises in Thunder Bay, and
the trucks at the Moscow subway take speed, all
I need is a piece of earth under my feet.
How Much?
Amanda Hawkins May 2020
we take the same train everyday
I don’t know your name nor where you come from
what a joy is to see your face once more before we part ways again
but the moment the train moves
the rumble of my heart lead the way
stead fast, the scenery of steeping in Front of emotion
track after track
winding and twisting with nothing to block the way
the express route to desire
your astonishing beauty
Is my favorite stop
love at first sight
I wish I could've told you how I felt
I wish I could've held your hands
before alighting the train
YusufKudsi Apr 2020
Many faces in a subway train,
Non that I know,
Non that I recognize.
The train passed by me and my eyes searched for a familiar face,
Still non that I know.
I came eye to eye with strangers,
But non of them saw me,
Non of them noticed me.
I got on the train and my eyes kept on searching while my heart kept on hoping,
Just to see your face.
SA Szumloz Mar 2020
As the train rocks back and forth
I can't help but stare north
At the beautiful lady sitting alone
In her regular seat. Her throne
The damsel in red.

Her eyes are outlined with black liner
Making her cool, blue eyes appear brighter
Her curly, brown hair travels down her back
An enchanting beauty that seems to attack
My gentle heart.

Her red scarf stands out the most
An expensive cloth that seems to boast
That her money is more important than your love
God, can you please send a sign from above?
That I am hers if she wants me.

My angel whispers in my ear
Cupid stabs my heart with a spear
I so desperately want to run to her
And profess my love that will stir
Until my dying day.

But it's too late
My meeting with her will have to wait
For the train has stopped, and she has left
Thank God I am blessed
With another day

On the Subway.
How is everyone doing? Thoughts?
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