TwoLeftSocks

There was a butterfly, and there still is, That once flew through a window. This is where the problems began. You see the window, that was open, Now isn't. Who closed it?  Who knows? But they have left and it was stuck. For the first few days, it resisted And flitted from wall to wall, trying To break through them. It did not. There came a day when it was tired. A picture, mounted on the wall, Became its place of rest. A week had passed, then two. Soon the time was infinite. But then one day, it tried to fly. That was when it discovered That it couldn't fly any more. It didn't stop trying. Wings make the most horrible Noise when they

It was three in the morning and as Ivy stared down at her broken body, she sighed. Her eyes, splattered with a dark mix of blood and mascara from the night before, were empty. There was nothing left, nothing to fill the newly hollowed restraint of a body that she had inhabited pitifully for seventeen years. Clasped in her small, pale hands  was a note. "I had to feel something mum. I'm sorry. Goodnight and Goodbye." Ivy knew her mother would never understand because she could never find the right words to explain how she felt: so painfully indifferent to life and her own mortality. Even in her last moments as she ran the knife acr