Life is not like Gloomy Sunday, with a second ending when the people are disturbed.

I am my heart's undertaker. Daily I go and retrieve its tattered remains, place them delicately into its little coffin, and bury it in the depths of my memory, only to have to do it all again tomorrow.

For this freedom I have given all I had For this darkness I gave my light For this wisdom I have lost my innocence Take my petals And cover me with the night

Studies show that intelligent girls are more depressed because they know the world.

And, what's more, this 'precious' body, the very same that is hooted and honked at, demeaned both in daily life as well as in ever existing form of media, harrassed, molested, raped, and, if all that wasn't enough, is forever poked and prodded and weighed and constantly wrong for eating too much, eating too little, a million details which all point to the solitary girl, to EVERY solitary girl, and say: Destroy yourself.

We will paste upon the curled pages words Like charming and romantic and sentimental Forgetting that charming is witchcraft Romantic is love And sentiment is what makes us human

Simply put, if you are a Wayward Victorian Girl, I'll find you.