The cold textured feelings, ripping up my arm,
the saddened look, I give out - screaming help.
The black and white layer is for a reason,
the mask of the witch doctor, laid on her face,
I don’t want to involve myself in beauty so painful,
it’s seems so sadistic of me, yet an artistic advantage.
When you scream out and call me wrong,
I've learnt to love the agony that pain brought.
The reason for the pain is because when it began,
it began on false alarms - they mistook me.
I was once a young girl, so free and angelic,
then it all began when I realized everything,
I was a bully to the young, a monster inside my soul,
I hid away from everybody, except isolation itself.
A girl known as angels came to worry for me,
I cried out because I am the blood thirsty demon.
She did not know that the dress that she wears for enchantment,
is a witch-crafted nightmare of a long lost devil.
I remember when I loved him so dearly,
I wanted to be with him forever.
Little did I know, how foolish I were to even believe,
in fairy tales at all, the witches and the queens.
“Never grow up”, was the advice I was given,and honestly,
it was terrible advice sunk into me.
I love the pain smothered in the darkness,
welcome to my game, the world of dim.
A girl known as angels came to worry for me,
I cried out because I am the demon,
There by the bushes, picking all the leaves,
I felt their patterns exchanging my thoughts.
I really don’t get it. If I were a demon,why did I feel like an angel once?
Why did they paint my wings white?