Poem

my leather jacket smelled of undustrial cigarettes, grey music was echoing through my ear drums, and everything was green when i looked at the train's window. and i don't write poems anymore, only bits and pieces from my alienating memory. and i feel, i feel, i feel,ifeelifeel. on a loop, over and over. oh but the things i feel when i sense the gaze upon my body. but the pure euphoria in my veins when our legs are dancing, right on the surface of black sheets. and the contrast of colours. the colours. am i being sentimental? perhaps.