I've always been a stupid girl
(another day, another mistake).
I try to stand out.
I try to reach as high as possible
even when the fall is too great for me to handle
(and all I do is fall).
I can never reach what I'm aiming for.
My destination is always another
hundred feet away.

It's always another push,
another pull,
and I just keep on rolling through the weeks
and the hours
and the years.
I fake a smile and tell everyone
"I'm alright"
as I walk along the broken glass
of all the faceless voices around me.
Another day, another mistake.
Another lie, another fall.
Today I roll again.


"I'm sorry," are the words he says to me
as he holds another girl in his arms.
I'm supposed to be crying,
I'm supposed to be angry
but all I can do I smile and say
"I'm okay".
The lying comes easily
and I walk away without looking back
because I can't stand their guilty eyes.

I walk to a place far away,
where I know nobody and nothing
except that this is where I am now.
The sky is dark and the moon hangs above the world
like a picture. Everything is perfect and right
except for the rolling girl that walks beneath the night sky
with a broken heart
and dry eyes.

I wonder why she insists on taking up space,
why she keeps on breathing.
She doesn't want to exist yet she pushes herself
to stay alive.
"I'll keep on rolling," she says, "and live another day."
But there's no point in her words
because every time she speaks them
she ends up falling again.
She has no destination.
She can't even see it anymore,
if she even had one from the beginning.


She is now in the ballet studio
and I don't know why she's there.
It's a place she had forgotten about,
a place that used to be her home years ago
but is now a ruin of her lost destination and dreams.
She used to dance here.
She used to smile here.
She used to sing here.
Back then, she used to dance, but now she rolls.

But now, this rolling girl is standing in front of a mirror
and she isn't crying
but she's staring at her reflection.
She gazes into my eyes
and I wonder why she's even here,
why she chose to come here,
why she doesn't keep rolling.
It's like time has stopped.
"I'm sorry", he said, but words mean nothing to her.
She doesn't understand them.
She just wants him to try again,
but he didn't want to do that—
he wanted to give up.
He wanted to give her up.

She is looking at me in the mirror
and I am looking back.
It feels lost and wrong,
like I'm just a reflection.
For now I'm an outsider
watching myself decide what
she should do next.
Try again?
One more time.

Try to succeed again one more time.


On Monday I'm back to being the rolling girl.
I slip back into who I used to be
even though I feel like giving up.
In class, I sit at my desk
and I listen to my teacher.
Even when the boy behind me pulls my hair
and calls me ugly,
or when the girl next to me sneers,
I keep my eyes straight ahead.
I keep on going, I keep on rolling.

At lunch I am slapped twice by a girl in my math class
and I'm pushed hard enough to fall onto my back
by a boy in my English class.
I crawl against the wall of the art building
and close my eyes.
I imagine what it would be like to dance
but when I open my eyes I'm rolling again.
With bruises on my face and scratches on my knees,
I stand up and I roll off
and I keep on living.

On Tuesday
I am once again crouched behind the art building
holding my bleeding cheek.
It stings but fingernails don't scratch very deep,
so I just sit there and wait for the bell.
But somebody is here.
A boy,
a boy I have never seen before is standing in front of me
and he's holding out his hand.

I don't take it.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.
I look at my scarred knees and don't answer him.
"Are you okay?" he asks again
and I still don't say anything
so the nameless boy sits next to me.
We both sit there in silence until the bell rings
and we go our separate ways.

On Wednesday
the boy is there again.
This time, my hands are bruised.
He doesn't ask me to take his hand this time.
This time he sits next to me
and asks if I'm okay, but doesn't look concerned
when I don't reply.
He begins to talk to me about things I don't remember,
even though his voice soothed
my active mind.

On Thursday
he touched my forehead
and asks me if I went to the nurse.
I tell him I did not,
and he looks pleased.
"You finally spoke to me," he says
and laughs at my blush.
He tells me to wait and leaves,
then returns moments later with a bandage.
When he sticks it on my gash
I feel warm,
like maybe this nameless boy can save me.
But the feeling passes quickly
and I tell him I have to go,
and I run.

On Friday
I don't come to school.
I lie in bed and tell myself
"one more time, one more time, try one time."
I keep on breathing.
Today I roll again.


The boy is there everyday.
He brings a box of bandages
and he is gentle,
and kind,
and he speaks softly like he is speaking to a child.
His touch is alien and warm,
but somehow
my mind never focuses on him.
His face is still unclear and his voice
I never ask for his name and he never asks for mine.

He doesn't question how I got the wounds
but I know that he knows.
I never cry and all I do is ignore the hurt
and roll further away from him.
He reaches out to me and I turn my back to him.
But that's alright.
I'm fine alone because I can keep on
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.
I'm okay.


The boy has pretty eyes,
like gentle ocean blue
and dark stormy irises
that always hold some strange kind of

I notice his eyes
because it is him who stares into mine
as I crouch on the cold ground
bleeding from every pore of my body
and try not to cry out
and scream
and roll

"Are you done now?" he asks softly,
like he knows that I try too hard
to please my parents
and myself
and everyone else,
even those who don't matter.
He knows too much about me
and I don't know why he knows
but he knows
and he holds such sorrow in his eyes
that I break my vow of silence
to reassure him.

"Just a little more," I say, "maybe something will be in sight soon."
He doesn't understand
and for the first time I notice his tears
as he holds my bloody face in his hands
and smiles at me
with those pretty, pretty eyes
and with that gentle, gentle voice
he says again "Are you alright now?"
gentle words
that become lost.
"Not yet," I say. "I still can't see my destination."


"One more time," I say,
"I'll roll again today."
I look into the eyes of my own reflection
and all I see are bruises
and shame
and agony.
But the nameless boy
who always meets me
and brings bandages
and smiles at me –
he is expecting me today.
I roll again.


It's all enough,
it's all over,
it's all too much.
It's all broken, finally,
and my words sink to my stomach.
No more "one more time"
and no more "I'm okay"
and no more "try again".
This is crime and punishment.
I can't keep rolling with my knees scarred up like this.
I'm stuck in one place, one moment,
frozen and quiet in the middle of the day
but I feel like it's night again,
where he's telling me "I'm sorry"
and the girl in his arms is pitying me.

It's too much.
It's all enough,
too much, over,

"Are you alright?"
the nameless boy asks again.
I look at him and wonder why he's here,
everyday, without fail.
He has the box of bandages again
and he's looking for new wounds.
He knows my secret.
He knows I'm rolling every day and
he knows I'm forcing myself to breathe.
Thank you, thank you, for being here.

"I'll stop breathing now," I tell him as I clutch my throat.
I'm not lying anymore
and I'm finally done rolling.
My breathing is sharp,
my throat stings
and closes up as my cold fingers
wrap around my neck
and squeezes, squeezes,
tightly and firmly and
with conviction.

But his hands aren't cold.
They are warm and they touch mine.
He pulls them away from my throat
and he pulls me closely.
My body fit against his
like a puzzle piece.
His breath hits my cheek
and its warm,
my body is cold and hard against his soft presence
but somehow we fit together perfectly
and he says quietly,
"Let's go. You must be tired, right?"

So tired.
So very tired.

Today, I roll again.

A.N: I was listening to Vocaloid Miku Hatsune's "Rolling Girl" on my iPod and got the urge to write this. it's a weird writing style that I used to have back in middle school, lol. It's very vague and whimsical, not as clear as my usual writing, so it's more like a sort of...poetic one shot, though it does have some story and dialogue. It even has some song quotes! (Though some of them are paraphrased XD) Ahem, anyway, please do review. :D

PS: There are no names in here on purpose. It can be anybody. I think it sort of represents anybody in that situation and how much humans need each other. WELL. Enough deep talk for me...DX

PSS: the story was very heavily based off of a vocaloid one shot of "Rolling Girl" I read a while back. I don't remember who wrote it, but it's a very good story. Look for it. There's very few "Rolling Girl" Vocaloid fanfics so it shouldn't be hard.

EDIT: I changed the format, and added a 'chapter'. =)