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.
Copyright © Claire Wilkerson | Year Posted 2018
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