There's a lighthouse inside of her. The way it keeps shining out light, to keep her from going astray. Sometimes, she shuts it off. The lights. The path of darkness hits her. And every now and then, she feels it. The love, the warmth, the pleasant of being there. In the stillness of no lights. She feels calm. But these haunting thoughts. Suicidal. Thoughts of not being to see the rays of sunlight shines through the curtains, the hope of fresh air, breaths of new life. But she wasn't getting enough of hope lately. Her mind speaks. Often, too much, too often. It speaks of words she could never possibly imagine. She, sometimes, could not comprehend. She keeps secrets. Too herself most of the times. Her intentions of hurting herself, in the showers, where thoughts, these free thoughts, keep agonizing her. In a way, she sometimes feel like the hurting is the only thing that keeps her alive at these moments. Telling her she should hurt herself but not letting her know exactly what is she doing. It's confusing. It's lethal. Well at least that's what she thought it does to her. She cuts herself open. She wants to feel the pain outside of her once. She wants it to settle herself down. To feel every single pain from inside, come out. To see the red liquid oozing, to free the devil inside of her.

'Because there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it's sent away.'

These thoughts, these thoughts of living souls, drenched in red blood. She has been dreaming the same vivid luminance for the past months. She keeps telling herself the world is unworthy of her. The world's mad, as mad as a hatter. Forgetful youth has been drained down on her.

If only she'd known the snowflakes that had fallen to the seemingly visible ground was all to treasure her pure silliness existence. Do you think she would let the window open and welcome the crystallized souls drenched with unforgiving lost memories and hopes? Do you think she could ever pull out a beating heart from her hallow fully tainted veins and single-mindedly throw it away out into the empty quiescence ocean? In the core of her paradise, she has once abruptly spoken; she wants to be taken away by the luscious wind. She wants to be taken care of by the willows and the mellow ground. She has dreams. Unwillingness, unfulfilling dreams. But she doesn't want to encourage them. Because if she did, then they will all be gone. And all that's left to herself is nothing but oblivious limbos.