افسردگی پاش رو گذاشته رو گردنم و داره اکسیژن‌های مونده رو با جاروبرقی می‌بلعه.

My knuckles are turning purplish from all the wall-punching, I look at them and feel nothing but a gigantic void inside and a breeze of your voice that wants me to stop hurting myself. But I do like the scars.
My heart feels like just as it is, a pump that makes me survive. My ever-exhausted brain wants to explode with everything and nothing within.
I told you that you can pass by things and that's a good thing, just not for me. You came up to me and said "but I do love you like before", only I'm not sure if I feel that. All I feel is nothing, I'm not even sorrowful, I just seem to be unfinished and left behind. It's like being a bad piece of art that means nothing to the world and everything to the artist. But will the artist leave the criticism and all the good pieces behind?

Glamorous.
Just so comforting to watch over and over again.
And the soundtrack is heavenly beautiful. :*)

1, 9th.
- The Traveller.