The sound of feet is isolated in the tunnel.
Echoes of the slow steps of many fill the narrow space.
We march in silence.
Alone among the many.
We do this odd ambitious walk twice daily.
Twice daily this space is filled with the sound of the travelers and the workers.
And what about the times that betwixt the twice daily commute?
An ambiance like no other.
A roaring silence.
For those who have march here
They leave behind an echo,
an imprint of sort.
More ghostly than any ghost.
Haunting these tunnels with their essence
When the sound of feet is not present.

I am always late.
I wish I wasn't but I am.

My friends, they wait for me -
This time.
But they won't always be there.

The day they stop waiting -
Is the day I stop being late.

Nobody feels the same way,
Although we all feel sore,
With our unique cuts and bruises,
Scratching the cold surface, begging for an end.

Everyone's head is throbbing,
Overwhelmed by too little or too much,
Sailing a broken boat in their own troubled waters,
Searching for a pill customised to their inflictions.

“Oh what a beautiful life”
We cut watermelon cubes
while her brother keeps us company,
Gretchen peels potatoes
beside us
Conversation and Silence flowing naturally
and comfortably
While memories of the pool
float in my mind

“So we try to live like it’s all we got”
What started as
dipping our legs in and talking,
music softly pulsing
out of my headphones in the background
as we laughed,
turned into Myth Busters
proving the rumor of hearing a **** whistle blown below water
being heard above
is complete *******
Suddenly I’m underwater, hearing the whistle go off
I’m completely soaked
Standing on the ledge, grabbing her arm
I pull us under
we swim around
Splashing and laughing
chasing one another
our clothes a lost cause
but we don’t care
simply enjoying the glowing moon
and bright stars

“Gives us just one perfect night”
Laughing
and Jostling each other around
Leaving the pool behind
I grin
Gretchen still peeling and cutting potatoes
began making conversation
and the memories
Slowly
Fade away

Every grey cloud is painted over a pink sky.
The sky is pink. It is, it is, I know it is.
I can see it. I really can.
The grey clouds used to envelope me, until we were one in the same.
But the pink sky was always there.
The pink sky is there, and I'm telling you: I can see it.
But it's still so ******* grey.

Before I start you need to understand something; I was high at the time.
I was high when I said your name.
I was high when I though about the way you walked.
I was high when I fell in love with your lips.
I was sober when I tried to let you walk away.
Before I finish you need to understand something; I was high.
You were a drug and I was an addict.

You go shopping with her, she seems to suit everything; you're confused about where your jealousy lies; in the reflection she gets to keep or the hair brushing against her soft face. A part of you just wants to kiss her as you share a changing room and try to avert your eyes.

The worst thing about falling for your best friend is that although she's ******* stunning standing there in her lingerie, that's not really the reason you long to turn your head and look at her. You want to look at her because you can hear her laughing and you know she's probably had a really clumsy wardrobe malfunction, or she's fallen over, or she's pulling a funny face and laughing at her own reflection.
She doesn't even realise but it seems like she'll do anything to make you nervous. Which makes things complicated, because she's your best friend; you've always been so comfortable together. She whispers into your neck "will you do me up?" and a spark runs through your veins. Gingerly you zip up the back of the dress, noticing how **** her back is, and not particularly wanting to do the task at hand.You resist the urge to brush her hair to the side and kiss her neck. She takes your hand and you feel simultaneously the most comfortable and nervous with her than you've ever felt with anyone. So she leads you to the mirror and in the reflection you see her smile. 

"You are so beautiful. We're beautiful together." She says with a grin, 
squeezing your hand and bringing it around her waist.
"Don't we make such a hot couple?" She teases. 

 Falling for your best friend is rarely about ***. The thing is the whole "*** goddess thing" was kind of destroyed when she had the flu and you brought movies and chocolate to cheer her up. Everything about her was disgusting, but the glimmer in her eyes didn't fade and her cute little pout never failed to make you bite your lip. Because you loved her and she loved you. You were those girls who people often joked should get married. You used to laugh about that. Until one day you realised you didn't want it to be a joke.