Translated poem (present on the front and back cover)


When they find out…
When they find out that this isn't pretty.
That something's wrong.

Is something wrong?
With me?

When they see me,
the way only I see me.
But what is it that I see, anyway?

When they hear me,
and realize I have nothing to say.
After all, what can a façade say?

I secretly wonder if I'm a façade.
Well…
Not so secretly if I'm writing this.

Is this secret part of the façade too?

I'm beginning to think everyone hates me.
Very secretly,
very quietly.

Deep down…
Just like me.

Maybe I don't like myself as much as I thought.
Maybe the façade was believing I did.

Maybe because I don't like myself,
I search so desperately for others to do so.

But then I'm terrified they'll discover.

That behind this façade,
I think there's nothing but an empty ruin.
Filled with uncertainty, or perhaps just rotness.

Yet that lets herself sit here.
Still.
Undecided  if this is a doubt or a certainty.