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Second Breath, Miss Madness

Don’t say you want to die.

"Live, life is beautiful!"

"There are so many beautiful reasons to live!" and such...

I know, empty words.

But it’s not an excuse to act like a drama queen.

Exaggeration has become fashionable among people.

Either you hate, agree to be hated, or play the victim.

Strength, power; these are matters of psychology.

Under the lie of "I’m weak..." you live within the unease where you think the desire to die is the only peace you can find.

You think your crying eyes are a sign of pity,

Sometimes from the words of others.

And you wait for someone to protect you

In this way.

Crying is proof of being honest with your body, but you only lie.

You want to hide under someone else’s protection but in vain...

No one looks at you or feels pity.

You expect sweet words and "You’re so sweet!" from people you can’t even open up to.

Why do you impose on yourself what you do not accept?

Then you expect it from others.

Harsh outbursts, teenage antics, lost in thoughts of sex...

You know you don’t want to be just this.

That’s why you created your fictional self, I know.

You’re scared.

You fear they won’t accept that person either.

But you can’t silence the bittersweet symphony inside you.

Amid the conflict, you cover your head with your hands, hoping for their embrace.

The sound of blades, heart tears, vascular disorders...

You’re going crazy.

You scream:

Get out of my head Get out of my head

You shout your madness with these unnecessary screams:

I am Mr. Crazy Anti-Hero!

In this play where I handed over my lead role to someone else, I act as I please.

Sometimes I want to kill the main hero,

Sometimes I want to feel the French kiss.

A bitter and drooling taste...

A pleasure cascade that I can’t call exquisite but keeps me from breathing...

You feel it but can’t get it out of your mouth:

You’re breathless You’re breathless

You’re in a world where you can’t describe your soul with words.

You live in the realm of liars or impetuous ones who swear on non-existent gods.

In this place, you make up a stupid game before the person you’ll tattle on.

You’re in a "paradise" where responsibilities are taken under the names of "necessity" and "torture" and are used to escape everything or miss everything.

You want to end it.

You can’t be content with just crying.

You can’t survive by licking the merciless fingerprints.

Who can blame you

If you think your own world is comfortable?

You can’t see the ferris wheels spinning around you.

What luck,

You’re missing out on terrible things.

Even if your mind isn’t right,

Even if you’re running in the forest where you’ll freeze to death while shouting,

Even if you’re creating a festival with the red-painted skin scratches and tears,

You feel your pain and want to end it.

You want to eliminate these lesions before your life.

You scream:

Get out of my head Get out of my head

You display your foolishness with these meaningless complaints:

I am Mr. Maniac Sponge Fruit!

I must be bored with my role because I turn myself around with my strange peers until I vomit.

Curses fly from my alcohol-scented mouth, entering someone’s head like an arrow.

I enjoy the overdose of rudeness.

Despite my suffering, I live a festival where I create a fake smile.

There’s a knot in my throat, not allowing air to pass:

I can’t breathe

You think you look cool.

You’re disgusting.

You’ve surpassed exaggeration.

I look at you and have a fit of jealousy.

I don’t enjoy your suffering!

I’m just questioning why it’s not fair.

Though this isn’t a world of justice... mostly

When I look at this human realm, the most common thing I see is the pursuit of happiness.

But sometimes what is done for this purpose makes me question.

I can’t understand people tearing their pants for happiness.

The black hole of hedonism is just a terrible "Swallower."

Why would you want a world where you can’t be utilitarian and see others as mere pleasure objects?

I want to be happy.

You do too, but maybe our methods of obtaining it are different.

I don’t know why I’m thinking so much.

You’re not even someone I should care about...

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m looking for too much math in it.

Being a materialist inclined to depression...

The thought alone is terrifying.

No need for formulas.

Our hearts understand enough, they support us.

They keep beating.

Reasons, ironies, confusions, simplicities, feelings, rights and wrongs...

So strange and fun, sometimes painful.

But living doesn’t have to be fun, does it?

Just live...

Why should it feel so wrong?

No need to think

We can enjoy not life itself but what’s within it.

I say it in one breath, I shout it but in the second breath I feel the greatest motivation to live.

Unreasoned and comfortable...

I am Miss Sweet Pomelo.

I want to be an ordinary and emotional person who wants the good for people, who creates good for people.

I may be quiet but my silence is very meaningful actually.

Because the essence is always in the feelings I keep inside.

I constantly lie or keep secrets

But I’ve never been this open in my life.

I can see the foolishness I’ve done,

As if the cataract has been removed;

What a nice gift,

As if I’m opening a present I wrapped myself.

I no longer care.

I don’t care about being cool; I’m carrot-headed, that’s enough for me.

Small things,

Passionate buds of love,

Seeds of purification,

The taste of white cream taken from a stick,

The yellow candy flowing from its hole,

Motivation jumpers,

A shirt with a color explosion welcoming the warm sunny weather with its zippers open,

A quiet and calm black-and-white forest,

My peach-flavored sausage fingers,

The essence of melancholy in front of the piano,

The greeting of the bird of paradise,

With the ever-burning moon in my head,

A sweet child hugging their lover under someone’s collarbone,

Irritable boys whose faces are flushed with happiness,

Tears of joy and a close friend comforting you,

I love I love

The codes of my being..

Like I’m truly Miss Madness!

In this universe that seems like hell,

In the world of people playing the devil’s servants,

In the world of those who sometimes really dream of the good,

When it’s so easy to be happy,

Why should these be the cause of my unease?