Sparkles and twinkles
One breathes and lets go and dies
Blackness kills us all

Just fall, continue falling and then fall some more. Diving into the unknown and being engulfed in darkness is such a dream of mine that I am afraid to tell another soul. Oh, soul. I forgot the majority of the human race has no soul, not to mention spontaneity. That is why this is such a fatal decision to mum. But to me, it is an adventure, an ******, it is me.

I am going to be raw for a second. Imagine, just ******* imagine - touching a piece of paper for the very first time. Your curious fingers rubbing on the virginity of vulnerability. Oh how you want to crush it, smash it, split it! Yet, you nurture it because you want to save this disruption of innocence for later - when your inner savage comes *****.

This is not exactly what I intend to talk about. But what you understand, you understand.

Taking pride in my rebellious nature, I shall embark on a trip to Cambodia with no return. (Ticket booked and nothing planned.) Not only did I not consult any of my friends but I also did not ask my parents for their permission. (I decided it is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I have to do this for myself.) To set foot on this untouched land of lustful beasts and savour savagery one last time.

My alone 2-week stay in Cambodia will mark the transition of me from a G. to an L.. I will be the first person to notice that and the people there will decide if they want to keep me alive. I am totally putting my life because danger. Oh danger. Such a juicy word huh. I do not mind dying young anyway. In fact I have considered taking control of my death for a few times now since I desire to take my life on my own terms. Oh we are a little off. The transition. I want to bury all of it there. The unwanted touch and all the guilt and pain it has caused ever since. I want to leave everything there and kiss them goodbye. The damage will always be there but thank you for the pain and thank you for killing "me" because now, I know how to properly torture myself so as to escalate the pain - take a deep breath and let it go. It is the cruelest thing I will have ever done to myself.

To simply take a deep breath, and let it go.

In mid-September,
when I grow old and cannot remember,
when the leaves fall from trees,
when my soul cannot seem to flee,

A never-ending story I will tell,
on the world I cast a spell,
to the sea I surrender,
to you I promise a forever,

Time has a way to time,
to trick you for a lifetime,
to age and age along the way,
to lie and lie to call it a day,

An end must come and I will die,
Offer me flowers and the pain will subside,
Hush little baby please do not cry,
Hush little baby please do not cry.

As ambiguous as the title may seem, it dives into the vastness of human nature, it explores a sensitivity that most neglect, and it leaves you breathless with each and every single word.

  At first glance, this book caught my eye due to it's boring cover and unfascinating title. But then I read it's synopsis and I was simply blown away by the stream of consciousness - how she took me from one place to another, how she gave me air and then drowned me underwater, how she sat on the edge of the moon with me and how the moon cut us with each swing between dreams and reality, how she showed me women of the Victorian era wearing ****** little skirts and how the whole street smelled like a smithy - like raw metals and earth, how she took me to the Hastings's backyard and made me an accessory to Alison Dilaurentis's ****** - I was buried alive!... and how she brought me back to the modern bookstore with dusty bookshelves and people walking past me like I did't even exist, like I didn't even belong here, and this wasn't even me...

  Ah! How she made me want more...!

O ****** little skirt,
A red so loud it burns my skin.
Such fine floral patterns,
And thorns that split human skin.

Wanders on a hill of red and green,
Falls into the hands of men with no mercy.
Stretched and pulled and stretched and pulled,
Like liquor rushing into hot capsules.

O ****** little skirt,
Trembles in the dark closet.
Pleasure and pain,  pleasure and pain,
Share the same red unmade bed.

O ****** little skirt,
Keep bleeding, keep bleeding.
O poor ****** little skirt,
What have you now?

Desire - the detrimental nature of men.
The untouchedness of women,
The innocence of childhood.
Burnt into ashes. Gone.

How I wish Ticktock was my greatest thief,
So innocence would not have left me so early.
Fragments of memories scar my soul,
Yet. Pain, unfelt.

I was four - I was loved.
My stolen innocence,
My untold story.
Life. Long gone.

Alone in bed tonight,
Waiting for the dark night to rise.
In darkness I shall be still,
But the scars on my wrist just will not heal.

The ****** broken pinky promises
That ***** friends originally made with fragrances.
And the cold and creepy spooky smiles
That I once thought would make our friendship go miles.

Oh, darling!
What foolish lies you are believing!
"Friendship forever and happily ever after"?
Oh give me a break, you are clever!

Live in a house of stones and bricks,
Equip yourself with rifles and tricks.
Or lock yourself in a tower like Rapunzel's,
As the answer to "how to get up there" is "no one knows".

Listen to me when I speak,
My words I warn you to keep.
For I once heard Truth and Lie whispering,
Criticizing our stupidity of not-knowing.

"Why do people love you but hate me?"
"Because I am the beautiful Lie and you are the ugly Truth."

I am the girl in the closet,
With lies and thoughts that make me upset.
In the dark of the darkest night,
A hundred battles I have to fight.

I am the girl in the closet,
With the smiling face on the day we met.
But did you ever figure it out yourself,
That it was a weapon I prepared to protect myself?

I am the girl in the closet,
A thousand criticisms from people I get.
"You will never succeed" they say,
So on the floor, with no confidence, I lay.

I am the girl in the closet,
The one with a very complicated mindset.
Just yesterday, a million tears in my heart, they fell,
Because I had a billion secrets I was afraid to tell.

I am the girl in the closet,
But no one really cares about me I bet.
So I am writing in the hope that you will notice,
That I am the girl in the closet.