Stripe

On the last train out of town,
Many whistles blew to signal the end.
A piece of hair falls across the landscape, and,
One last - "last time?" - you ask, when lighting it up,
This is all I want.
Here she lies,
Born in 1987, but forever reaching upwards.
"Fuck upwards," she whispers, as she takes the drugs,
"It's all holding on to concrete, sinking me."
And here she cries,
Making puddles for little mistakes to swim in,
Down a tunnel, never coming up for air.
There is an urgency in the air tonight,
A brown sky symbolizing a heavy brick inside of her,
Here she lies, we lay flowers on the graves of the insecure,
Take away the cross, she's dangling in the Small Zone - air tight.
Here she lies, beneath us in ever lasting gray matter,
Her credit is bad, and she left her debts to the street people,
But here she lies,
Still a piece of me.