As I look in the mirror an ear shattering scream leaves my mouth,

As I see the brokenness of the grinning young girl.

As she approaches the calloused looking abject,

She opens it in one swift motions,

And observes the inscriptions.

She likes the dark but to them she’s depressed.

She likes the rush but to them she’s unstable.

She likes the disasters but to them she a maniac

As the young girl studies the engraving of the journal,

Oblivious to the gazes upon her emptiness.

Some say she looks absurd, others pity her.

But no one questions the young girl,

Some out of fear, others of disgust.

The dying girl only needs one thing though,

Not pity or fear,

But love for her pure form,

Not the smiling girl,

But the one who loves the dark, the rush and the disasters.

Despite the show of her tribulation