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My train.

A night, alone,
numb, under the hazy light of what feels like sun,
waiting for something,
anything to change this empty feeling,
can't even see the words you're writing,
smoking, on something long and white just to numb the pain,
a secret insanity.
Your fingertips are losing grip again,
the edges of reality, memory and complete fakery fading together on this carpet that looks like a pebbled shore.
'I just want to feel something.'
It's whisper, underneath the gushing cresendo of rushing water.
Still blurred is the vision of a lost gypsy's eyes.
No family, no heartache for the dearly departed as a symphony of sound, lovely and beautiful, enters my ear.
A bird?
No, not a bird.
Clair De Lune.
I could not mistake that tune,
and as I look around I'm still at home,
nothing's changed,
no pebbled beach,
no birds of song,
just this emptiness,
this on-going loneliness,
like a train
that'll never take you home.[/font]
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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