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.