I'll shake the devils hand. It may land me in a pit, but I'm fine with that ****. Yeah, any way to get big is acceptable right? Even if you start a fight? Wrong. I've been working so long, just to be heard. And it is absurd how much yelling and screaming I have to do just so you look at me. And what is it you see? Nothing. You see another rebellious teenage, acting out. Well I won't pout. I'll shout some more! I have no score to settle. I'll bang my head to this metal. And I'll pump my fist. But don't break my wrist, it is my weapon, my tool, and I;m no fool. Without it I am nothing. I am that nothing that you see before you. So what do you do? You snap it like it is nothing. Broken at the wrist, I twist and turn in an agony unknown to most. Because what is a poet without his words? Like birds with no wings. You see in a shade of grey, were as I see in a prism! Rainbows flow through the world, some bright and vibrant, others dark and dreary. And I grow so weary of seeing the dark. I live in this dark, cold, empty room. And soon I'll see the sun.