There is this girl, somewhere out there. And she finds peace within her music. Her music tells stories of sadness, of grief, of anger, of misery, of hatred. Her music is like poems, poems that only she can read. No one understands her poems because her music is in all the wrong languages. No one understands her music because no one takes the time to listen, to think about what she was feeling. There is this girl, somewhere out there, that doesn't have words to say how she is feeling. This girl says it through her bleeding and her tears. She likes being sick. She likes the attention. She likes the comfort. There is this girl out there that wishes that she could just vanish from the earth like nothing ever happened. Like no one ever loved her. But people love her, and she does not want to hurt them. She loves them too. This girl, here, is important to a lot of people. Even through her depression, she can see that, and she weeps at night thinking of them. Of those wonderful, beautiful people. This girl has gained the ability to look at people differently. This girl, here, she has had a lot happen to her. She has looked at everything different lately. And she loves people for loving her. She loves people for caring. She sits in the corner, her head in her hands, and she cries, she cries for everyone that has ever known her. She cries for the decision she must make, the one she must make soon. She cries for the emotions. The love, the hate, the anger, the sadness, the misery. She is so sad. She feels worthless and fat and a peice of shit. She feels unwanted, uneeded. She loves. She lies. She is a fake. She isn't real. She wants the end to come. She wants to face the end, she wants to tell this "god" fellow that she is ready, willing, and able. She wants to tell that man that he deserves the worst of all punishment for doing this to her. She wants to tell people so many things, but they are all gone now. They are all gone, they have left her, all she did was love. She has love in her heart, so much of it. Love is the movement, she says. But will love move her? Love has moved her for the worse. She loved and she lost. She lost and she greieved. The process repeats. She wants it over with.