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