Shift

The warehouse roof is a jagged line

that cuts the sky into a bruise.

I’m sitting here, wasting my time,

with nothing left to win or lose.

The streetlights give a heavy hum

and flicker to a sickly green.

I’m waiting for the dark to come

and wash away the things I’ve seen.

For three minutes, the dust is gold,

drifting across the window frame.

The air is turning sharp and cold,

but everything still feels the same.