She sits upon the window sill,
Twenty stories above the ground, still.
She stares past the blinking lights and the fractured sky,
Full of pain and agony, her eyes are dry,
Her eyes are red, bloodshot red,
Her skin is dull, dull as lead,
Her hand are wrought, her lips quiver,
As a chill creeps up her spine, no mere shiver.
The night is deep, far from the known,
As among the clouds, she sits, all alone.
She grips the rails, cold as stone,
As she plunges into the unknown.
Louder and louder the voices are,
The winds sink into crescendos, and emerge not far.
The voices cease.
She descends, with grace, into the night,
’til the void is illuminated by the light.
The night is soft, soft and silent,
As the body of the girl lies mangled and bent,
The world that pushed her, in peace, sleeps
Ignorant of the girl who can no longer weep.