In a dark room,
there is only a worn-out chair
that stands in what little light there is.

In such a dark room,
only a girl drawn to desire
continues to die under emptiness.

In this dark room,
the girl sits upon her weeping chair
with gloom.

I'm isolated and forced to live bored
I think of talking to my friends,
but are they really?

I don't talk to them much,
we just know each other,
do they really think I'm a friend?
I'm practically a stranger now.

I lose friends more than I gain.
I can't socialize, I can't talk
I always call them my friend,
but what does it feel like to have one?

I want someone to talk to
someone who knows nothing about me.
Someone who knows me.


Maybe a penpal could work...

So many people,
so many memories,
I thought to myself

Regrets and deaths
of both rage and sorrow
is the fruit in the path I misled.

It wasn't pretty flowers
in a pretty meadow,
it was the unbeatable power
of the mirror's echo

This echo, for some unforeseen mistake,
is what had led me to the room.
The water-filled room,
The drowning room.