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
Grating, screaming, as if they’re trying
to tell me something. 

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

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

Half of me wants to crawl up on the
The other half wants to walk into the

Have I any purpose besides survival?


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