Not a soul in the world knows her pain,

Not a soul in the world hears her scream.

Alone is a word she is comforted by.

It’s a familiarity.

The shivers of the cold world can not be shaken.

And she doesn’t need the blanket of a lie repetitively told.

If the runaway train continues to run,

She will not chase the tracks.

And she will bury herself amongst the most

loneliest of poets.