Claire Wilkerson Poet I do not know?

Ghost

Sometimes I eat my lunch alone
Where no one is nearby
So many friends have disappeared
Despite how hard I try

But the train has left the station
'Cause I can't make conversation

Each time I try to talk to you
It's like a wicked hand
Clamps clammy fingers o'er my mouth
And I can barely stand

And the train has left the station
In this dying conversation

As I walk through the halls to class
People catch my eye
They call to me-I call to them 
But always pass them by

I always pass them by.

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