Ladies and gentlemen, gaze now upon this, our final attraction: one fool, lost and brokenhearted. Watch as she tries to find anchorage in clumsy poems and petty love songs.
It may appear as though she is no different from the rest of us, but don't let her dangerously cheerful facade delude you. It is but a crumbling wall made of watering smiles and false enthusiasm, poised to topple at a moment's notice. Come, she is quite tame. She grasps at broken pencils and tattered journals, finding solace in their steadfast companionship. It may seem to be self therapy which she is after, but peer closer. Deep down, the only compulsion for each sadly plucked melody and smeared sketch is a sense of self loathing so old and innate it has become her only companion. It feeds a sick need for personal abuse which creates scars running far deeper than any physical violence could ever achieve.