To which she felt so small in a big crowded room,
She can't help but to be ignored by everyone around her,
She can't resist but she can desist,
There's so much more to that - she can either confide herself or maybe... starve herself
To her own bed of saturated ranges and colors of roses, in which she carved and dug into with thorns and petals into a black hole - a visual representation of her is necessary - whenever it's needed.
She can't fit into the mold that she once created.
Nobody likes her..
Nobody loves her..
And she thought, "Everyone is a bad guy,"
And she's not wrong with what she said.
Indeed, her intrusive thoughts always win, no matter what.
