She is the girl
who sits in the quiet of things,
keeping close her empty misery.
All her words
are unknown to the ears
For the lonely only speaks a language
that only eyes could hear.
She sleeps with a certain sorrow,
the silence maddening
For the lonely only cries at night
when the moon is unforgiving.
A beautiful kind of dark
is all that she breathes
For the lonely only survives
on the surface of their fear.
She is the girl
who moves in the stillness of things,
knowing exactly why she loves misery -
For she is only ever lovely when her guard is down;
And she only truly happy when she is lonely.
