Stylo

We slept on carpet floors that summer,

tattered blankets strewn about

And bean-bag pillows thrown in the corner.

No furniture, no light, no AC.

It was hot, humid and dark,

but we didn't care.

Fast food was sprawled on our laps,

the only shit we could afford that night.

The train roared thirty feet outside our walls,

the light passing through the curtain less windows,

keeping us awake at 2 am.

She had brought a small light to brighten up the room,

a neon white lamp in the shape of a Christmas tree.

The only source of light we had besides that train.

It kept the fear of the dark out of our minds,

But even that eventually flickered out

leaving us broke, alone and

worst of all

afraid.