The Night Rider; My First Ever Poem
He rode on, doused in the fluorescent light of the late night train. He wedged his back firmly against the seat behind him, his feet sprawling. His back ached but he didn’t dare to move or adjust, because the ache spreading to his neck roared and reminded him that he was alive. Breathing, at least. He had left the party early that night. He didn’t feel like being with people. He had meandered through the dusty train station filled with the noises of people seizing the night more than he ever felt he could. He had made his way onto the train, heading where he was supposed to go. Music was the bright orange buoy that he had decided to swim to, pushing away regrets of another night that he felt might have passed him by. Despite himself, or maybe just to himself, he smiled. He rode on.