You. Leave.

She often had those mood swings. She would feel completely cold and deadly relaxed. She would keep the calmness on her face, until some strange anxiety didn't shiver it's way to her body. She remained calm, her expressions as cold as ever. She would be the only witness of the contradictions her body and soul produced.
She wished, more than anything, for her absurd interior to leave, or at least to make an impression on the exterior. She despised and adored her stone like facade.
She felt like a prisoner of her own grotesque psyche. She fought with words and actions against the thoughts. She never won. She proved that thoughts were the sharpest sword on the market. She fired bullets from those deadly sharp edges. She held those fights in a pretty small arena, that was pretty soft, surrounded by a sphere completely made of bone material. She had only one contestant. She kept him going round and round. She gave him boomerang bullets. She made them always come back to the subject and shoot them directly in the center of his being.
She never learnt to kick this fellow out of the club.
She had her outsides remain cold. She screamed in pain, sadness and helplessness. She had her exterior remain gray.
She slowly let herself die, because no one ever taught me how to get saved.

"Your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head"

Strings of gold and black
They, since forever, get me attached
To the one that made the sound
To the one that would fast become my mental wound
Notes and words
Opened new horizons, created untouched worlds
In my mind
Made me see more, made me blind
Rock 'n' roll was his lullaby
Soon enough my favourite place to hide
Somewhere in between
The all what ifs and the should've been
Stood destiny
With her fetish of testing me
Spreading flowers and joy
Made my heart a zero to three years toy
My eyes sparkle and shine
My fantasies never becoming mine
Threw a him here or there
Just to make me tear
The heart and the strings
And a few hand written things
Then make another joke
And another one was awoke
With a six pack of strings coloured in gold and black
To the very beginning we'll head back
With my mind we'll play
And the melody will remain standing in my way

(P. S. The drawing you see under the text is my work)

Tell me

Tell me about the times you ended it before even starting. The times when illogical fear caught up. Those situations which listened to your brain instead the heart.
Tell me about the times you turned around because the gates seemed too chained up, not giving yourself the opportunity to see the easy road behind them.
Tell me about the times when you looked in everyone's eyes but your own. Letting them believe what they see on the inside is wrong.
Did it depress you? Did "the right thing" ever tasted as the most deffective one in your mouth? Did you admit to yourself how wrong you were for doing it?
Were you afraid they'd just tell you to shut up?
Analyze.
Realize.
Look up to the skies and see.
Tell me about all the times I said no, when I should've said yes.