There are so many people in this world,
But my life is solitary.
It feels like a vacuum to truly exist in this world.
I just want to go somewhere where there is peace.

To live here is just a useless desire.
The people, they're not home,
They never can be.
But I dwell here, surrounded by everything that's mine, yet still doesn't belong to me.

It has become a beautiful mess,
Where I drown in the depth of the ocean.
There is so much air I'm surrounded by,
Yet I still feel suffocated.
It gets hard every time I breathe.

I just wish to disappear from here and live in the world of mine,
Which is a lot better than this cursed world where I exist.

What is life?
Is it the love we're getting?
Or the hatred that is burning?
Is it the darkness or the beautiful light that shines bright?

We all live here in this illusion,
Fantasizing about the warmth that we all crave the most.
We fear to touch the fire of love,
But still let ourselves burn in it.
Here, all of us fight for our loved ones,
But we fail to protect them.

In the end, a mysterious darkness comes and steals all the light from our life.
I wonder what it is?
And I finally realize that it is the end of our struggle, but yet the beautiful life.
The life which we all yearned for.
Yes, that same life which was nothing but a complete misery.

How does it feel to be haunted by the same thought you once believed was forgotten?
It feels as if my mind has become a void, later filled with millions of thoughts—
like restless souls that haunt me all the time.
It's so exasperating that I just want to escape from it.

But I wonder—
is it the thought itself, or am I the one allowing my mind to wither?
Or is it the words that keep buzzing in my mind?
I always thought those words had vanished forever,
but they never truly left, did they?

Instead, they have ruined my soul in every possible way,
haunting me and turning it into a miserable existence.
I yearn for peace, yet it feels impossible to attain
with this restless, relentless mind of mine.

There is so much of noise in this world.
The sound of everything around me feels so exasperating.
I dwell here, hearing to the  noises of people.
I feel to go away and live in the world which is more tranquil than this clamorous world I live.

The people here also live with the bitterness,
Forgetting the beautiful emotion called love.
They burn with the rage of attaining the world.
But they forget about the things that make them happy.
In search of happiness, they forget the life they are living.

Oh I live here in the awful world of desire,
Where I crave for nothing but the love.
But my soul in this world disappears somewhere,
where it fails to attain the peace I yearn for.

Oh I have the beautiful roses,
The roses of my love.
Yes the same love which I crave for the most.
It's in the darkest shade of red.

My heart, it bled so much for that love.
The thorns, they pierced my soul.
I ruined myself in every possible way,
Just to attain that love.

But, I wonder, was I really able to feel love?
I always yearned for those roses of affection;
They were as red as my love.
But, is the red on them, love or is it blood?
I guess it was always the blood, not the love.

Cause every time I saw them they reminded me of the wounds and scars of mine,
Yes the scars that came from the same love I craved for.
And those wounds bled so much that they turned the love of mine red.

I'm the one who bleeds herself
Just to live a life of bliss.
But my life is a complete mess.

I live here fantasizing about warmth, so I let myself burn in the fire of affection.
And here, my heart turns to ashes.

How does it feel to have the biggest scar?
Yes, my scar is the scar of love,
Which haunts my mind.

And your words are like knives that stab my heart,
Forming scars that make my heart bleed.

But I'm the kind who clings to the same knives that make me bleed.
My heart has bled so much that the ocean within it has turned red.

But my love is like the ocean, so deep.
Where I drown myself, surrendering to the depths gladly.

Stab me with your love, and I am still ready to hurt my bleeding heart, even if it takes my life.
And I'll be blessed, just to be stabbed by your knife of love.

Oh, to be loved by the writer,
Here, you become the poem you never wanted to.
You'll be her words, where she bleeds her heart to write a single line
And pours all her love into the pages.

She keeps you alive in her poems,
Where you live a life of bliss.
But if you hurt her,
The same words of hers become the knife that stabs directly into your heart.

She becomes the one to make you feel loved and hated every time she writes.
The love she has are words that burn with emotions.
And if you love her the way she does,
She becomes the kind who dies when she loves.