Toothpaste on his collarnThere were creases in his shirtnAnd someone stabbed a fag out on his coatnIt made a hole; it didn't hurtnnHe never noticednSquashed inside the trainnThe elbows in his ribsnComplaintsnAnd smells of garlic perspirationnAs the stations flewnnNo one talkednNo one lookednnHis face turned china bluenHe tried to push; he couldn't movenHe tried to scream; no sound came throughnWas heaving, bleeding from the insidenHe died, still standingnnNo one noticednNo one carednnThey'd steal a glance, but never starenIt never pays to stare