I Write Poetry

In the inside, we all cry for a better world but we cannot not escape the reality of becoming famous.

We go off to the joy that we felt, but not all the drugs in the world can save us from ourselves.

There's nobody watching.

We give our clothes to pay the bills.

We are attempt, from cutting ourselves. We are attempt, from cutting ourselves.

Can you even see, the pain we scream, but we only bleed.

I was attempt, in a suicidal hell.

But the ending, didn't end well...