Place of Transit

Hello. Good- WHAT?

Alas, it’s a silent “WHAT?”

I feel forgotten.

I have a mouth and hand,

you have working ears and eyes.

I think?

.

I feel

ignored.

.

Was I-

only a placeholder,

until someone better,

more fitting,

came along?

.

I will not stand having been used

as a method to

while away the hours!

.

~

.

This must be what

being a train station

must feel like.

As a place of transit,

the only ones who have you

as a final destination

are those without a choice.

I am not

a train station,

for you to have waited at

until the absentee train

arrived.

(Or was I?)

.

I claim here and now,

that I am not a place holder!

(Or was I?)

.

I am a train.

I am not stopped here

as a place for your

seamless transition

to the next location.

I am not stopped at all.

.

~

.

You look happier,

with those halting people.

When I speak of you,

people make excuses

saying this was what you always wanted,

that these friends

fill your needs.

(Not the types of things I could do)

.

I remember,

from the time before I became

a ghost,

when something was wrong,

and I was the only one there,

you called for

themhim­-

and I asked, why I was not

good enough.

.

~

.

Was it really,

that long ago?

As a train,

everything is a blur.

As a train,

the greener pastures

for me

are just blurs.

Even you

were a blur,

you are now

like a person stuck

in sticky molasses

(I hate the cloying taste).

.

Still,

I feel

discarded.

A person can

have more than one

friend group.

A person can reply

to those who greet them

(even I do that, for even my enemies)

A person can give me a reason

for being done

with me.

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