What happens to lonely people...so lonely that they would rather die than face their troubles, problems, lonliness or whatever is torturing them...what happens when there is a moment in our lives so black, that there seems no point in going on....
Here I am, waiting for my train.
A train, that never seems to be coming.
Unlike my train of thoughts, which are rushing in.
Until I black them out.
Waiting on this cold platform
with a lonesome few,
who have a train to catch but a place
nowhere to go.
The tracks seem to melt into the arctic night.
And after one moment the waiting is over.
I can feel the glow of a lighter.
Pungent cigar smoke,
jarring me into wakefulness.
Low murmurs of conversation.
I resist the urge to look at the crowd
resenting intrusion into the black hole of my thoughts.
Now they are looking at me and now they are not
I hear gazes shifting and feet shuffling.
Do I speak up as well?
No. There is no friendliness in the air.
Just a heavy blanket of waiting for nothing
They dare not disturb my solitude.
And I sit there whiling away time
Watching that lazy snowflake drifting by
Along with a stranger who sits beside me
I am tempted to catch it on my tongue
Only to see it landing on the bench that I sit on.
Melting into water,
ever so slowly, mixing into the sliver of
red that seems to be flowing from a pair of hands.
I am startled by the color.
I look up to see who the stranger is,
Only to find the tranquility of my face,
staring back at me.
