Rebel.
I became that kind of a beast,
Vices became an addictive feast.
Sorrow was my deepest ocean,
and I left myself sink.
My mind was chained to the pleasure of pain making me a hostage to something I can choose to escape.
But I shan't leave the room of monsters,
I'm compelled by the attention I've finally receive.
Nonetheless it wasn't good enough,
So I become distant and rough.
I left my friends and made razor blade my closest companion,
and became my silver pen of devastating art of red.
It was half terrifying and half satisfying,
the way your skin opening and smiling.
It was calling and foretelling,
how one slide can be tempting.
It felt like handcuffs on my wrist.
I loved the pain, and at the same time I twice hated it.
It was ghastly haunting,
Like ropes tied on your neck stopping you from breathing.
My life was like a prison cell,
cold bars on my skin,
no visitors no guests, just me all alone knees bent while crying.
Until tears run dry and you can't cry.
I was chained by my feeling of being not good enough and locked myself from trying again.