In the deepest parts of my mind I repulse myself. Not for the things I've said or what I've done, but because your still there. Your still there lingering. You continue to remind me that whenever i want you, your still here. But its not you. It was never you. Because I made you up underneath my pretty little head of hair. In reality you are cold. You are pain. You are shame. In reality I am Vain. I am glamour. I am stain. But in my pretty little head we are perfectly entwined. Dancing and laughing with our crowns in our hands. You are my monster waiting in the darkness, and I am your damsel walking toward the cave.