Quietly Alone

She sits and stares forward as if
nothing in the world can touch her,
as if she's not impure.

She sighs as if something is wrong
but smiles at you and mumbles she's
completely fine.

Another smooth lie.

She doesn't talk much and when she does
it never seems to make sense, or it hurts,
it hurts so bad.

And when she finally glances at you,
there is nothing in her eyes but quiet
judging, expecting you to leave.

Just like the rest.

She sits there, hands in her lap, staring
into that sheeting rain.

Quietly alone, as always.