she sat in hollow dark
of her four-walled room,
and wished that all she could think of was
light pink ribbons,
crystalline mouunds of white sgar,
and pots of sweet cream.
but instead,
somewhere deep in her head,
there was something,
loneliness or spite maybe,
that melted the sugar,
singed the ribbons,
and spoiled the cream,
and let it sit in cold pools
across the rocky ridges of her conscience,
eating away the warmth,
and seeping into hidden cracks.
she went about her life like this,
with this liquid darkness on the surface of her thoughts,
and tried her best to be happy and young and kind,
and see her life wasn't so bad,
but still she cried in the bathroom,
her eyes bleary and flat,
and fell asleep at night hugging a pillow.
she was scared she might wake up in morning
and find that the darkness had swallowed her up,
had painted her irises black,
and had poisoned her soul beyond repair.
