Station

 

I looked out weary, Stories to my right, Ones that I couldn't write. A journey I paid for, prayAnd the lives that consumed me, Some I can never repay.  Back and forth, as the numbers Changed, I still had the liquid, But it was the kisses that turned cold.I drank as the years slid Into the bottles that I packed, Ready to be sold.  In the bright light, nothing I saw, Nothing I did, nothing told.My thoughts liked my days raw. Nothing of my own, I am A black hole, sucking In the memories of old. I could feel eyes on me Of people busy on their screens. I see my life shiningThrough the dull windows I try to stand still, I falter.But I'll be home soon as the train slows.  

This poem is about: 
Me

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