Ghost Station

I picked out prompts out of a hat and pissed this out. Thank you for reading (^人^)

I sit here in longing as the horn blares and rain casts down without warning, pouring acid that blooms on skin. Painful it is that flesh rips and bleeds, that old, peppered kisses are washed away.

Forgotten passenger. Forgotten ticket.

The burning sensation remains, storm passing like the speeding train which only slows momentarily, then carries on with a rumble deep in its chambers.

The train does not stop here nor for me.

A waiting shed that had long been defunct— Only a passing flora, moss and broken lights.

Where the tunnel leads thereafter I will never know; I stay here to wait for another passerby. Skin exposed had forgotten featherlight touches, now only knowing the rain. Cold, relentless rain.

It cycles, leaving overgrowth to climb on my feet, letting the earth swallow me whole.

Much like this station, my life is left to a fleeting memory.