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{"I fall into the river drenched in my own expectancy, 
The peddles inside enveloping me as a fairytale destined to be. However I knew life was far from being caressed and revived by fiction once I turned ten. 
I don’t want to inhale anybody’s pain, 
I’m already consumed by my own, and nobody could hold my hand and sing lullabies into my ear anymore in an attempt to calm me down in the middle of the night crying, drenched with perspiration something seizes against my heart.
I inhale the lavender and place it against my nose, 
I breathe it into my soul. So the tragedies of lovers and fighters are always an infinite barrier across my path, I hear the sky rumbling again, soon to be drenched in natural flames and paint. I don’t want anybody to figure out and fill in the emptiness of several puzzle pieces of what goes in or through my mind and what does not, or to withhold the insides of me and my sentiments in a moment of weakness that agitates and sets me aflame and pries me apart. 
There is a possible leakage in the pipes, that stretches and goes along to my gut, where the internal organs lie, cracked and blemished already before I die, the poison already intoxicating to the eye, I let the breeze take me along the way of my demise, so the guilt and pain would extract from my watery grave, 
I took the secrets to my watery grave in the purpose of you not following it, not prying through the darkness that rests underneath the shining refuge of sunlight across my room, a camouflage I bounded through, clasped the hinges tightly, so nobody could be confused and nobody could trace assumptions of the real me the rests and lies behind my smile lines,
I change my bedsheet and my pillow cover everyday so nobody could come upon a notice from the tear stains that is engraved and clasped into the cottony soft fabric, 
Comfortable yet agonizing because there is a voice inside of my head telling me profusely that I don’t deserve it, so I cry more with a fist against my mouth to silence my sobs. 
So that everybody cannot see nor witness the inner turmoil of me, I can summarize my life in one or two lines rather than pages to encounter in the Forrest where I have buried all of my journals, though they were never about me. 
They were all about numerous people who made me feel everything they had to offer and set me aflame with the poisonous possibility that I will never be enough, 
So I’ll take my tears to the grave as well, to never be seen again. 
The last time I had gotten the taste of love on the tip of my tongue unexpectedly sucked the life out of me and left me drowning in the middle of the river to fend for myself, so my childhood backyard will always be a sacred place, filled with mementos and memories I cannot erase, and if this life was after all a race, why would I leave the ruins of myself to your mercy? 
Though there is actually a part of me that I cannot erase or escape from, a girl around seven, with the lavenders clutched in her fist, handing them to her mum, tucking one bit of it inside of her scarf, laughing away and playing the part, and once she reaches ten, she replays it over and over, the long nights filled with her silenced cries. 
I will take that bouquet that was from my childhood to the grave, and cover the concept with lavender so that part of me could never die. And all of those people I don’t know whom I have met in the street would attend my funeral, will reiterate lies that they saw above my joker mask. 
If only had I had someone to tell my secrets to, share them, and reenact with each other laughing and playing and crying and living finally. Without another thought weighing heavily on our minds. 
They wouldn’t be such a burden to carry, in the middle of the night. 
Far too good to be true, so I won’t mind if you lie in the ruins of me."}
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