All She Wants Is Darkness

she's full of truths. lies, and poison. she paints her lips outside the lines, to make them appear bigger. adoring the sultry smiles of women on the big screen. stays up late at night confessing things to herself, talking herself in and out of trouble. she wants everything and nothing all at once. she lives in a house, with a family and things. nice things, bad things, this house is full of things. things you can hold, and admire and things she'd rather tuck into her skull, leave them in a little nook, somewhere no one will find them. she's full of love. hate, wrapped in bow ties. she's fill of questions. answers, and surprises. she wears dresses that don't make her feel anymore clothed then if she were naked. she's full of promise. but she wouldn't dare make you one. broken pieces lay scattered at the bottom of her underwear drawer. pieces she could never put back together because some how she has misplaced a few of them, she would look for them but she fears the product they would create, the puzzle that would be answered with them all connected. she walks through life with things on her mind, piles of things, piling up into the sky. she walks through life. she does. turning over rocks she pokes at the darkness, the emptiness that seems so full, she inquires on why the sun doesn't try to poke into this space, why like water, must it spill into all of her, shine on everything she wishes to hid in the darkness, yet this rock; such a bore in all it's entirety, gets away with housing it's nothing in a darkness she longs to find, longs to capture and live inside, hide behind. all she wants is darkness.