midnight coffee and dead ends

Oh look at how the city bleeds red through every sidewalk i walk, even when my wallet feels like empty parachute lines. sittin' here hunched on some concrete want to wander but calling to myself the sound of my own running feet grows louder than the vendor's distant shout. i glance at that streetlamp like it's whispering secrets about lost paths and choices made too late, feels like a conversation with my reflection who never learns to smile back. the air smells different here, heavier, like damp earth after rain, promise of secrets beneath espresso stains. sometimes i think i'm chasing ghosts weaving through walls the light couldn't reach, but the only truth is this: i’ll stay longer than stupid tweets promise. the noise gets louder, the shadows stretch long, and for a while i swear i hear warmth like the city remembers warmth somewhere below. does anyone else feel like that？maybe just my own tired jaw. the bus hums low, a lazy heartbeat, i try to ignore it but my hands grip the seatframe too tight. later i'll see if dawn breaks exactly when i start, but for now this is what it sits here, this fragile stillness between lungs full of bitter brew and mind spinning like a windshield wiper blade. sometimes i close my eyes hoping the fog peels off, but i know it won't. it never does. the place holds its breath, waiting for the next breath i take away.

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