1 AM,
You find yourself laying on the train tracks under the silence of the night.

The silence screams volumnes.

You perform autopsies on moments that happened lives ago, dissecting and redoing conversations in your mind. 

You count to ten.

Remind one month,
you learn about gas chambers in your history class,
about oxygen in biology,
But your teachers are pilling up the work load,
your parents are already planning your future,
as you stay up each night just to get through the next day,
you know what it feels like to be suffocating.

Fast forward one week,
your home is not a homefront,
much more the opposite,
but the ongoing battle against time and firing school bells,
has got you chained by the density of each test grade,
flooding your lungs with the heaviness of defeat,
burying you with lost hopes,
you are still fighting to keep our chin above the water,
but you are sinking,
struggling to breathe,
grasping onto the last bit of oxygen as if you were trapped in a gas chamber,
you are drowning.

Fast forward 1 week,
you ask your mother about God,
ask her where people who die really go to,
is there a such thing as hell,

Fast forward one week,
this place is hell.

Fast forward 1 day,
you remember the guy in your biology class,
they say he's in a better place now,
you understand what that really means.

Fast forward 12 hours,
you leave your house before your next alarm clock,
climb over the fence along west charleston and east meadow drive,
have you gravitate towards the brightness of the head lights that illuminates in the night,
like a beacon, a lighthouse, promising hope
an escape out of the darkness,
you can see it now,
closer and closer,
leading you back to shore

1 AM,
you find yourself laying on the train tracks under the silence of the night,
humming your favorite llulaby, the one your mother used to sing to you before she put you to sleep, you can finally finally sleep,
you rest your tired eyes,
you count.
10.
9.
8.
7.
6.
5.
4.
3.
2.