suicidal sonnet

The wind playfully tickles her hair
The way she flies showing no fear.
A butterfly suspended in air
and upon her face glistens a tear.
Her eyes portray her tortured soul
The love of life inside her dies
So now her body takes the toll
from all the other peoples' lies.
She chose to stand on top
and watch the cars speed past.
She then leaned in to drop
Suddenly, quietly, fast.
Her body crumples in the soft red stained snow
and the police come to investigate poor Ms. Jane Doe.