*ToxicCherryBlossom*

She was a daydream, Hiding in a nightmare to conceal it's vividness.

Life can be bumpy, but it may be because I'm so curvy

When you cry, the sky leans in.

*Sometimes I wanna read a book which is just there, a book no one would pick up when they are in a bookshop or if they see it because it's not well known and no one knows what it contains, the same way no one would walk in a random house on the street even if it is empty, for he do not know what awaits there for him to stumble upon and I want to be that someone who trips there and discover what it has to offer and to know how long it waited to tell it's story.*

I am neither a museum of failure nor a gallery of striving; I am a pond of sunken dreams, a fountain of fleeting smiles.

Oft am I wrong, yet this time I wish to be right. The love I give, my heart knows I shall never receive, cursed as I am by my own detachment. But is it truly my fault? My birth feels like a Shakespearean tragedy. She said it was the best that could happen, but it was my doomsday. I should not have fallen, and now it’s in my bones. It rots, and I with it. I could have saved myself, but the burden was too heavy. I feel too much. What irony is this? A man thought to be without feelings now overwhelmed by them. He begged for it, and now that he has it, he longs to be rid of it. Ungrateful. Unloved. Unworthy. I am a tragedy. I should cease to exist.

October sent her in my life, I hate October.

To make up for the fact that it's me.

She don't deserve to be on my suicide note.

I'm always wrong but this time I wanna be right. The love I give, my heart knows I'll never receive, it's the curse I bear for being detached but is it really my fault? My birth feel like a Shakespeare tragedy, she said it's the best thing that could happen but it was my doomsday. Shouldn't have fallen and now it's in my bone, It's rotten and I'm rotting away with it I could have saved myself but it felt too much I feel too much. What an irony isn't it a guy who has no feelings is feeling things that he believed he'll never feel and he begged for it and now that he have it he wants to get rid of it, Ungrateful. Unloved. Undeserving. I am a tragedy. I shall cease to exist.

I never gave myself the privilege to get to know me, how can I expect to trust myself in the hands of others?