After Dark
It’s always
late after dark
when they drift
outside.
Neon streetlights
flicker shyly
as they stray
around.
Dark enough to conceal
their shaking hands,
unsteady breaths,
dirt of their streets,
moth-grey of their souls.
coal under their fingernails.
Bright enough to uncover
pretty girls with
their pink poetry,
first-edition books,
sweet lipsticks,
long shadows,
and longer still legs.
They roll cigarettes.
Drink cheap, cold beer.
Throw pennies and stones
at the heels of chicks,
who want nothing
from them.
They discuss Tarantino,
Lynch and Cronenberg.
They dream of their salt,
perfumes and smiles.
They dream of unreachable,
warmth
even from
their cold touch.
It’s always
late after dark
when they walk home
wearing borrowed faces.
They try to prove something,
but they don’t exactly know
what.
They want to be someone else,
but they don’t exactly know
how.
They wear borrowed faces
because their own
never felt like enough
in the light.
The dark
was never their enemy.
It was the only place
they didn't have to prove
who they were supposed to be.
— AËLA
The ending is so sad yet beautiful and it sounds like you speak of prostitution - a poem about such you pull off elegantly and there are a lot of beautiful lines in here creating mood through emotional imagery.