Here's a few ideas I've tossed around.
* * *
I don't want to be alone tonight.
I opened the balcony door, hoping to let in some warm summer air.
Instead, the wind blew in some forgotten ghosts.
I can't even cry properly. I only make gasping, choking sounds, feeling little stabs in my throat. Treacherous words.
I am no good for anything or anyone.
Come under my umbrella, see it all from a different perspective.
Kiss the rain off the parched lips.
Don't worry, nothing will seemingly break.
You won't ever know.
* * *
Forests are beautiful. They are deep, dark, and mysterious. If I wanted to be anything else than a human, I'd want to be a forest.
Inside of you I see a forest. Something to explore, to lie down in and listen to. What kind of birds would live in your forest? Would they sing for me? Could I hear the sound of a little creek running close by, leaves rustling, wind moving? Could I see the sun slanting through the branches? I want to know your forest. I want to feel at home in it. I want you to show me what kind of bark you have, underneath your clothes. What kind of a tree are you? Where do your roots go?
I want to carve my initials in your bark, and encircle them with a heart. Mine, my own, no one else's to touch. This man belongs to me, leaves and all. And I would like to come and see you in the glorious colours of autumn, dressed in your finest suit. I'd like to lie underneath you in the summer, listen to your soft humming. In the winter I'd come and hug you to keep you warm. And in the spring I'd take delight in every new bud forming on your naked branches.
Would you understand my forest? Would you find my magical spring? Would you see the fairies dancing? Maybe you'd understand. Maybe you'd think my forest the most wonderful of them all. Maybe you could be at home in my forest, among the silver fairy tale trees. Maybe you'd find it always as exciting, never boring, always an adventure. I'll let you into the forest inside my head, if you'll let me into yours.
* * *
Bleed a bit for me, darling.
I do just that. I open the valves, let out the flood that has been impending.
I will bleed for you.
Don't get the plasters, don't stitch me up, this is what you wanted. You said it yourself.
"What are you like, really? What is it like inside your head?"
You asked it yourself. Now here is your answer.
My head is overgrown, scary, malicious. Do not enter, forbidden and untrodden ground. The soil has grown bitter in the wait for some water. Your pathetic little drops consisting of meaningless vowels and consonants won't help. The acid clouds hang over the gloom, showering the trees with dark purple rain. I bathe in it, my thoughts swim around, scream for more, more, more, give me more courage to end this all properly.
I am not the fairy I would like to be. Instead, I am the troll. I am the one that you don't want, and you shrink away, just like everyone else, because there is nothing in my head that would please you.
You asked yourself.
I gave you my honest answer.
I keep my waters behind closed dams. They don't leak, they don't show, I have learned my lesson. There is no better way to hide something, than to decorate it. I have made this into art, my nightmares and my bruises, this isn't real for any of you. This is a show.
This show has finished. Go home! Don't try to peek behind the curtain, there is nothing for you.
You are coming too late.
The star has withdrawn to her dressing room, to wash off the make-up, take off the costume, and head back to her room with the bare walls and single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The drawn tears are replaced with empty eyes.
That's all, folks.