My mania may be more subtle,
housed in a tighter box.
My conversation more versatile,
hued with experiences captured and turned for their worth.
But my value still remains a mystery,
impeded by doubt,
yet comforted by an ease with loneliness.
Pulled along the tracks in this line of train,
silent, staring strangers,
my uncertain future waits ahead,
never to be found.
The present always chasing it away.
Train rocking.
Night falling.