Lonely

I’ve a train of a mind and it’s a ghost
of interpretation. 
Sometimes I wander the empty cars 
in idled silence. 

I wonder why the wheels screech so
loudly. 
Grating, screaming, as if they’re trying
to tell me something. 

I turn to my left and there is an empty
row. 
I turn to my right and there is a
passenger bar. 
I look straight ahead and the cabin is
dark. 

Is this how every monster feels?
Is this how I’m to spend the rest of my
eternity?
Why was I, of all the minds tinkering,
chosen to play this role?

Half of me wants to crawl up on the
ground,
The other half wants to walk into the
abyss. 

Have I any purpose besides survival?

B. 

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