Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

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