Humor me, for I do not think my mind is capable enough with giving me the satisfaction of a good old laugh. Praise me, for I do not want another man to be a conduit of a good luck other than the boy I loved since forever. Save me, for living in a lively neighborhood never gave me the chance to live. There were eyes lurking beyond every shadows I turn to. And so I ventured in a city where I learned I had two faces after all. One, to shatter every being with the force of my lips and voice and tone. Two, to keep myself from breaking and shattering and dying.

Sometimes I think I am not human. What is the point of existing if my emotions are as void as a black hole stark in a city of stars? There is no cure for a scarred piece of flesh. There is no salvation for a damned soul such as myself. Life, as perpetually impossible as it may sound, is such a feeble thing fates never thought mattered. Playing with death is easy. Taking part of it is as mundane as a creature of darkness is, well, still a domain of demons summoned for spite.

I was once a good girl. Growing up, I discovered my flesh is as thin and as an almost transparent skin that slowly shed when it comes in contact with bad people. Growing up, I noticed day by day the souls of the damned were as damned as their way of living. It wasn't a pretty sight. It was horrible, but no one ever really did complained about it.

I was once a good girl, but I grew up and became as bad as the definition of a troubled individual. Never really knowing what is right or wrong, never really knowing what real happiness and freedom meant all along. I am as troubled as a person who is lost in a synchronized manner of people living on earth. I do not need rules. I do not need sympathy. I do not need help. I am bad, and that is that.