Isn't it funny how his blood smells like his blade. It must be the metal, quantum level the same. Every possibility in time lead to this line. A faceless man writing this rhyme. In a world so messed up he thinks it's his fault. Turning to drugs, he lost all his hope. And now sits alone worrying how to cope. Can't stop smoking dope. He never visioned he'd be happy, And it shows.
Welcome to the execution of my mind Let's open it up and see what we find Hand me a light it's so very dark inside The agony seems to be amplified In here it's so very far from bliss The demons are starting to hiss Watch out the blackness is starting to seep out The sorrow is starting to pour and spout We must hurry now or we will become infected Buy what has been inflicted Killing this poisonous mind we must To save all of us
My scars remind me of many things… Some I want to remember and others I want to forget. I am pure to the truth but I swell in regret. Shame, pain, triumph, strength… scars represent.
There are no badges to wear; I have no pride to hide. I am not a product of the stories; I refuse to be a prisoner of my descents.
The past is often forgotten... Memories distort beyond recognition. Scars will fade, darken, stretch and shrink. But the deep ones stay; I still can’t forget.
Emotions dissipate... or so I thought. But now I believe they simply hide beneath layers of damaged skin... keeping those scars painfully alive.
It isn’t protection; it isn’t healing. No badge I’ll wear; no pride I’ll find. Yes, these scars are mine… But I am not my scars! And my scars are not yours.
To some, I am marked for life; I cannot control their stereotypes. I **** them and their forced opinions! They thrive on my scars; they try to create new wounds.
Sometimes, I let you see my scars… but I am far from naïve. I know I am giving you a temptation and a tool. Don’t try to own me… you are a fool to think you know me. The why, when, and how is my personal mystery.
I won’t let you look beyond the fragments; Deep below the layered scars hides my truth. I will not allow you entry; I am still afraid. Self-inflicted wounds are far more acceptable.
I do not wish for more scars… to add to my repertoire. I do not wish for more adversaries… to shove me back into the ground.
My past is mine and mine alone; it remains a part of me. But despite the spite I feel… My past is not my present; my past is not my future. And it certainly is NOT any of your business.