The Lonely

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.