The bridge is bathed in a

Flurescent orange glow 

Which coats the road like syrup 

Clinging to every surface

It can possibly illuminate

I stand under such a light

Casting an impression of myself 

Across the pavement

My only faithful follower

But even they disapear in the dark 

My backpack trails down my arm 

Dropping with a muffled thud 

Onto the damp ground 

I shed my coat next 

Letting it fall too 

The cold encapsulates me 

I bend

And untie my laces 

My movements slowed 

By the weight of the sadness

I listen to the cars rush by 

On a near by road 

As I step out of my boots

My feet sink into the remaining wisps of snow

I place my hands on the rough stone of the high bridge wall

And heave myself up 

My legs swing over easily 

To dangle high above

The silver tracks below

They sparkle in the weak light 

LIke a magpie 

I am drawn to them 

Gravity pulls at me 

And the wind whispers encouraging words in my ear

The tracks being to rattle 

And eyes appear in the darkness

I shuffle forwards in anticipation

The train flies towards me 

And I prepare myself 

But it swoops into the tunnel before I can fall

I pull my legs up 

Pick up my things 

And walk away 

Maybe next Monday