The night was mine once
but the city took it away
and washed it in a phosphorescent orange
that seeps in through the cracks in the blinds
and on the backs of the roaches.
And my silence,
that anthem of my peaceful solitude,
that too belonged to me.
But now we share it
as the sound of the distance and the hatred
that grows between us.
Looking around from the creaky balcony
where I go to escape you
I catch the last moments
of a generation.
The eerie glow of their cellphones
cast green shadows.
I listen, anticipating a ghost story
or some dreamy reflection
but all they do is shrug, sigh,
and mumble "whatever"
as they type their suicide texts
ttyl, cruel world.
I drink to everyone of them.
I raise my glass to every glint
of their dead eyes
grumbling Cheers to each.
And the more I drink
the more this balcony railing resembles
the bars of a penitentiary
and this apartment complex,
"Lights out!" shouts the Warden who is never seen.
but he can't seem to find the switch.