its never-ending torture.

you're in my dreams at night,
you've taken over my thoughts during the day,
i cant get a break.

but, maybe i dont want to
maybe, secretly, i like it.

maybe, just maybe,
im looking forward to it,
this never-ending torture.

it might not be so bad.

she thought she was swimming,
when in reality, she was sinking

she knew so too,
somewhere deep inside her

but she did nothing about it,
and kept pretending to swim

maybe, she'll learn how to swim someday

definitely not today, but someday.

she's been locked in her room for so long.
she doesnt remember why she's there,
or who she is.

all she remembers is that she mustn't leave,
no matter what happens.

but she's grown so thin, so fragile, so weak.

days, month, years;
they've all blurred together.

she can't even remember her name.

poor little ghost girl.

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