Lonely Trains

Her tears, like drops on dewy grass

Formed before the sun does see the sky

Reflecting like a mirrored glass

Slowly slides with a softened sigh,

Coursing along the painful panes

Of a face pallored so sickly pale,

Like an echoing of lonely trains

Running through an emptied vale.

Sliding along the wall she creeps,

To rest upon the cluttered floor

Knowing no longer why she weeps

Blankly staring out the open door

Her last thoughts of what the world will think

When they find her blood inside the sink.

10/19/2009

AJP