If the cry of midnight is but
A shadow in your rearview mirror, slowly
Tiptoeing across a distant horizon
Folding itself between the stars
If hazy figures fill your mind, if they
Dance on the windshield of your thoughts
Waltzing to tunes of hope and lust
On a road engraved with moonlit scars
And if dawn rears its ugly head
Over your weary, bloodshot eyes, you
Are possessed by love or loneliness
Both casualties of an equal kind.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.