By the Yellow Lines (Sonnet)

Photo by Osman Rana on Unsplash

Mechanic blasts of warmth, the wind it whines

with heavy handed gusts from platform three.

I dare to step over the yellow lines,

To draw the more attention back to me.

Sat slumped atop a polyester case

that’s rain soaked and empty. Nails bitten red,

someone should recognise this broken face

as the guilty one that fled.

The train it comes and empties out the crowd,

and I am left with spotlight to my crime.

A year of running, stitching my own shroud,

this criminal deserves to do his time

See me, call them, then please lock me away,

For I am tired of acting as the prey