Counting the lines;
the yellow
ones.

Fighting the motion;
the sickening
thoughts.

Waiting for the next song;
those upcoming
stops.

Smiling at the
graffiti;
and you
in my mind,
who breaks my heart;
not so distressful
after all.

Crying for the
dead grass
seized in between the same
lines;
dislike our parallel
lives.

… still wondering loud,
who’s in charge of our *love*?

S