Sand paper bags scratch empty city streets, like nails on chalkboards. It’s amazing how silence can be scary. I gaze upon empty playground grass, the rampant, rapacious children are no longer able to climb jungle gyms to be king of the world. Why? I believe someone invited the Devil to dinner. He scorched earth and burnt tears in barren city streets, I alone see the beauty in the destruction. Amongst anguish and anger, lies pure serenity. An ending is just as beautiful as a beginning, like light to files, I’m addicted to pain. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you how demise is perfect. It’s starts with a smile, broken. Too many demons spiting languages of hot lava that sounds similar to the solar maximum, It’s my mind that breaks from reality. Unstable and unappreciated, pain is the only way I can rid the stress, So I have believed. Starting like a headache, addicting like ****** or cough syrup, The rush of blood spiraling round my upper thigh is something I used to look forward to,
It was the only thing I could say I did for myself.
Moments spilled into months, months pouring into one self-inflicting year, If only I could show the buckets I filled with the sadness I was afraid to share with the world. I finally put the blades away when I made a mother watch her baby boy dig scissors into his wrists. Rosy-red cheeks and rain-drop tears slipping down her face was enough to know I could I do better. I needed to do better. So, I washed the blood away, erasing every past memory I thought I should regret. I know life is no ethcy-sketch, the marks I once was proud of bare the same weight of shame. I consider my addiction to be my savior. If I never landed on rock bottom, I would never know the power it takes to stand back up. Now I wake among empty city streets, Sand paper bags sit silently, It’s amazing how silence can be comforting. I alone see the beauty behind the monster that tore apart my freckled canvas. I look at the Devil in the mirror.
Dinner is finished.