The skies were just as open
As her mind was to the idea
That beauty is found in all things good
She was bad and the sky was closed
Same as the gate to the airplane she missed
Her last ride to anything worthwhile
So the solace she found was on the tracks
Of the subway
Laying still and quiet
The beautiful thing being her blood
On the front of the train
And her forever closed mind splattered
Open across the windows
The beautiful thing being the kid
Who saw the smile before it happened
Who saw the hurt behind the smile
Who was obsessed with the relief when
It
Finally
Happened
Who found his own relief twelve years later
On the same tracks
Under the same closed sky