i call the days that i wanna die the bad days
you know the bad days where nothing feels real
like in a dream
the bad days where colors are not just colors
and names are not just names
the bad days when my body feels like a prison
but my body is the only safe place i know
the bad days where all your voices sounds like robots
and the clothes on my body is making me feel dirty
but no matter how much i shower i will never be clean
the bad days when i wish to be skinny
so i could be happy
the bad days that i no longer wants my body as a castle
this castle that anyone can walk into
and on these bad days i don’t feel like repairing myself from “anyone”
i bet they don’t even remember what my castle looks like
so why can’t i just forget them?
they will never come back, they can’t
but on the bad days they whisper in my ear
and on the bad days i’m glued on my own castle floor and they sit in my gallery and paint on my paintings just to make them so they like them
they can leave whenever they want but they don’t want to
how ironic