Villainess’s Sweet Everyday

If I could vent myself to vomit a serious and pitiful mood, my pride and position would be ravaged, surrounded by a passion that travels in the dark, shot simultaneously, and soon to escape, I would become a beehive, a honey dripping, something pathetic, something that was the real me, contained in the hands of the demon of confusion everywhere, unable to move, and a healthy spirit would be impossible for me if I were to dwell in a healthy flesh, because from my wounded heart, hardship flows down as many muscles as tears, forming waterlogs. Slightly, I think my self-derision has passed.

Oops, they're leaving me.