Homeless

This home isn't mine...

That's what I said to myself as minutes trailed down the railroad.
It wasn't a skeptical analysis of my fate abomination,
But rather an instant thought that reflected upon me from the windows of the train..
I was now in another place but this compartment,
I wasn't a part of the concentration..
My eyes belonged to thoughts only,
Thoughts that longed for home..

This city isn't my home.. These houses, these structures,
Even this language I speak isn't mine,
It was a courtesy of an old lady...
I have never been on the trains for this long;
You only need one hand to count to number of trains
And two to count stop numbers in each one!

This is so unlike me..
I don't feel like myself, I don't feel good..
Even the way these thoughts and words trail off my mind..
Something isn't right..
I let myself loose in sudden desperation
But the hit was way more brutal than expected..

Look at me.. My only muse is my longing for everything back home!
This city, this life.. Everything about this place is killing me, one by one..
Only thing that will be left of me will be my angel of inspiration,
Smoothly wandering around my head..
Now she carries my name, now that I am just a body
Bloated with the yearning that slowly fills me in..

There will come a point where it will be impossible to utter the dismay,
The images won't become still, and will glide without imposing an instance to my eye,
The brain will shut itself to its own thoughts..
That's when my soul will ready its crematorium
And bow one last time as a gratitude towards life
And every single beauty it has provided..