Platonic Depth

Her tears were like poison,

eating at her from the inside.

It was the moments she was alone that hurt her the most,

when her tears streamed without end.

And tissues were scattered all around.

But she never cried when anyone was home,

it's not like it made a difference anyways.

Her pain was one that frequently went unshared,

bottled up and left uncorked until she found some time alone.

Time she infrequently got because nobody trusted her.

And nobody trusted her because she was a mess,

a mess who used all her time alone to hurt.