Why do I live?
I can count the number of times I've been happy on both hands.

Why don't I die?
It would be really easy to **** myself, I realise this.

But when I press the cold steel to my flesh.
I hesitate.

Death seems to be the ultimate thing I crave.
But my greatest fear.

I've spent too many nights sobbing into my pillow.
So I ask myself.

Why do I live?
I like seeing my family happy.

Why?
I like seeing my friends happy.

Why?
I like seeing anybody happy.

Why?
I hate seeing them upset.

Will I ever be truly satisfied?
I doubt it.

But, I want to try.

Why do I live?
I live not for myself. But I live for others.

Why don't I die?
Even though I don't believe it, people will be upset once I'm gone.

So when I press the cold steel to my flesh.
I put the knife away.

Death seems to be the ultimate thing I crave.
But if I let the urge completely erode me I will never be happy.

Happiness doesn't start once you die.
It happens when you learn to live.

Scream.
I.
Scream.

My throat hurts.
But the scream was soft.
My pillow holds all my screams.
So they can never escape.

I feel better.

Cry.
I.
Cry.

My eyes burn.
But my eyes won't water anymore.
My pillow holds all my tears.
So they can never escape.

I feel better.

I go to punch my pillow.
I need to vent.
Let it out.
Out.

Bleed.
I.
Bleed.

My knuckles are bruised.
The kid in front of me is crying.
Where is my pillow?
Where am I?

I feel awful.

Scream.
I.
Scream.

But this time.
Everyone can hear.
My pained cries echo the streets.
I can't hold it in anymore.

Blood trickles down my throat.
My eyes are red and puffy.
My knuckles are ****** from punching the pavement.
I can't stop.

I keep crying.
I keep screaming.
I keep punching.
I keep doing it.

Breathe.
I.
Breathe.

I can finally breathe.
After all this time.
I finally realised.
My pillow was suffocating me.

A dull world.
Lit only by the coins, the bling of the masters.

Every action I do hurts me.
But there's nothing I can do to stop the pain.

I could end my life.
End the torment.

But even if I did that.
It's just bailing out of a battle.

I want to try to survive.
So I can go down with pride.

No matter how many times I am used.
Stripped, cut or burned.

I will get back up again.
I am scarred but still standing.

Everything leaves marks.
I'll make mine battle wounds.

What's the difference between an angel and a devil?

Both have powers and are worshipped.
Both have powers unthinkable to mankind.

Both can look illegally beautiful.
Both can have wings.

When you think about it,
Lucifer was just a fallen angel.

Perhaps every "demon" or every "devil."
Is just an angel in disguise.

They didn't want to live constricted.
They lived in a cage that God had built.

Even the scariest demons have some light.
So look inside yourself.

Find redemption.

Isn't it funny how a lot of fears.
Have never been seen in reality?

They fear clowns.
But have never seen one in person.

They fear the ocean.
But have never drowned.

They fear heights.
But have never fallen.

I think it's funny.
Because a lot of people fear demons.

You've never seen a demon.
Yet, I have.

Demons aren't that scary.
They're just like you or me.

They long to be loved.
To be appreciated.

They want to feel valued.
They want to feel worthy.

At the end of the day.
Don't we all want that?

So put down your pitchforks.
Put down your torches.

Grab your closest demon.
And give them affection.

What does it mean to be good?
What does it mean to be human?
My body may be an abomination.
But my heart is as pure as a saint.

You can't say all humans are good.
Because you know they aren't.
You can't say all demons are bad.
Because you haven't met them all.

I never asked for this power.
The power to **** with just a flinch.
I used my power for good.
I protected those who needed protection.

But if you look a certain way.
You're classified as bad.
Everyone calls demons monsters.
Because they don't understand them.

But I think.
The cruellest monsters.
That still breathe today.
Wander around Earth.

Cold, violet skin.
Red rose petals fall from my wrist.

The scent is pleasant.
It makes my head spin.

I spew eucalyptus leaves into the overflowing river.
Oleanders flow down my throat.

I puke out the petals, now stained red.
The river flows red as the lilypads sink.

Monkshood flowers cast shadows over my porcelain skin.
I pluck and I pluck and I pluck.

Until my fingertips are stained purple.
I lick them clean.

I weep tears that take the shape of an angel's trumpet.
They sing me a soft lullaby as they seep into my skin.

Pretty foxgloves draw me in closer.
I touch their shell and inhale their scent.

My stomach turns inside out.
Skyflower petals seep from my mouth.

I hadn't noticed until now.
That my entire body was a wilted rose.