Music was my way to drown out what I would feel, trying to deny that it was real. My skin would suffer from what I would do to myself I couldn't take my mind off the silver object hidden on my shelf.
The silence of my bedroom ultimately crated violence. The things that left me horrified, I saw constantly glorified.
While the most beautiful things can be birthed from pain, The pain was not what was to be desired, the constant drain. No one should ever think that the fear of gain makes you strong, It should not be the subject in a song.
Blood stained wrists are not romantic, It is caused by pain overly titanic. Don't try to relate self horror, With being an explorer. Beauty is Beautiful, Pain is Painful.