i popped off my scalp like the lid of a jar.
it's the secret place where i keep all my feelings of the day,
like little blobs of dark slime, rubbing against each other.
they're cold, and slippery.

i reached inside with my fingers, pulling out the first one i found.
i looked at it for a bit, before stuffing it into the glass bottle with the others.

the bottle's been getting pretty full.
i shrugged and plucked another one out of my head, putting it into the glass.

day after day, night after night, i took out all the feelings from my head and slid them into the bottle.

one day, the glass exploded when i tried to stuff a feeling in it.
it couldn't handle anymore. it was at it's limit.
all the feelings i'd put away, bursted out at once.
glass shards and slimey feelings all over the floor.

i tried to pick them up, i tried to put everything back together, but i couldn't.

it was a mess.
i was a mess.

i didnt mean to hurt the poor butterfly,
i swear it.

i had even made a poem for you,
so, why'd you leave me?

it wasn't a very nice thing to do

you said you loved it,
so i thought you loved me too.

roses aren't always red
and violets aren't very blue

she sits in front of her window,
absentmindedly staring at the people below.

she's cold.
so, so, cold.

how many years has it been since her death?
she doesnt know. no one does.

she's so lonely.
everyone's forgotten her.

poor little dead girl.

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

im sorry angel,
you deserve better.

but right now, i want you.
you're okay with that, right?

i want you,
i need you.

so, be mine, okay?
until you realize you can do better,
until you realize im not good for you,
be mine.

i want to ruin you, angel.
you'll let me, won't you?

of course you will,
you've always been so nice.

im sorry.
i love you.