The therapy of the good in the bad

She is like a butterfly black out.

Beautifull like the rain at midnight.

Wild but captive in a house she never bought.

She often think of throw herself against the wall just to make them stop.

She is lonely.

She draw a thousand of butterfly.

She dreams about escaping.

She would like to hold anyone’s hand but nobodies can’t touch her.

She braid her hair, and untie them right away like it’s chain.

She is captive.

She count her hair looking at the clock.

If she get angry, she’ll get hurt.

She’s beautifull and savage like a lion in cage, after all these days alone.

A black sunshine is the pyromane of her dreams.

She cannot see the sun without thinking of escaping.

Her house ain’t even a home.

She is lonely.

If she stand up in fast motion, all her head will burn.

She’s screeming of pain, nobodie is hurt until she decide to be a person.

She is the half of herself, wandering, wondering, forgetting.

Wath about the butterflies in her stomach she used to find so beautifull.

Now they are all gone.

A black sunshine burn her hope.

When will she escape?

She pretend she is still alive.

She survive but she don’t live.

She can’t step out of the house.

Something in her can’t.

She is tattooed in beauty marks in pretty sparkle on her face.

Can’t she see?

How pretty…

Maybe she thinks it’s ugly.

Wath if everytime she cutted her hair, a part of her got hurt?

She don’t cut her hair anymore.

She can’t.

Eating is so good, so tasty, well so destroying.

She is pretty, can’t she see?

A tape is playing in her mind.

The sun explode all of her dreams.

Can’t she go outside just to see.

She won’t burn.

She won’t burn.

Wath if people were the culprit of her bad dreams?

Aren’t they just a far vision of the next separation.

She is captive, yet so of her own.

Maybe she can escape.

She feel a dark thrill, cold like legs running under rain at midnight.

She looks at the moon and wonder if she could go outside.

Wath if a part of her is watching her from the inside and disagree.

She search for the good in the bad, for the bad in the good.

Maybe she’s ok.

She break’s the window with a strong chair she found in the kitchen.

She go outside.

She run.

Someone can forget about how she disappear, but not everyone.

Too much of mind prison ended up to kill in her the trill of going out.

But not now.

Tonight, she felt something again.

Now she’s out, and she skinned her knees.

Who never hurt himself by a lake of love.

Staying inside for too long turned her creativity in madness.

But, how pretty is the beauty of a bit of madness.

She’s running far from the psychiatric hospice, the house that never have been a home.

She chokes on her breath.

Like in a ecstatic overdose, she stops breating.

She wake’s up in the ambulance.

-Have you seen all the colors ?

-I have already seen them.

-So, there's no fire.

-Don't bring one.

She is captive again, drawing butterfly with harms and legs.

Maybe she can escape…

Only in mind.