I’m f***ing crazy, but I’m free. I’m untamed for I roam the world out of curiosity. Curious to see what my future has to offer. Hoping that it’s positive because ever since I was young, I’ve been broken. Broken because I was raised from evil that rose from hell.

Everybody thinks I have it all, they all want to be me. Thinking that I live a life without hurt. But what they see and what I feel are two completely different worlds. I put on a little dress, slip into my heels, clean up my mascara, and fake a smile. A smile so cunning that can fool the detectives into thinking that I have it all.

Everyone thinks I’m crazy for the things I have done, but they don’t know at what reason I committed those actions for. For they only see the good and never the evil. Telling them the evil is telling a blind person to name colors from a color scale. Useless and pointless, for they will never be able to see the hurt.

I pretend that I’m not in pain, fooling everyone telling them I’m having fun. I walk about the world like life is a party to keep a cover. Some tell me I’m an angel of happiness, but little do they know I’m an angel in the garden of evil. Trying to fly but sucked back in. Trouble follows me like my own shadow. For it is right there. Always behind me.

I try to not get into trouble but I have a war in my mind, not letting me escape. My mind is a prisoner and my head is the jail cell. Not letting me free from the past. You see there comes a time where you live with the pain every waking moment, yet the pain becomes numb. Making it
easier to fool everyone around you.

I am my worst enemy. Doing things, things that are outrageous. But it’s because I’m so anxious that I do things to get a high to relieve my hurt from the pain. It’s a rollercoaster. When I’m down something relieves me that keeps me high.

People ask me why I’m so impulsive, and do things without thinking. For they don’t understand that the pain takes over you. Not caring about the consequence but the high. When you don’t have the high, you look for it. Like a crack head in search of cocaine when in withdrawal.
They say to stop and think, but you can’t. For an alcoholic doesn’t hesitate for one second when a bottle of wine lays right before their eyes. If one hasn’t grieved from this pain, they won’t understand. My soul is numb but my heart still feels. It’s bent out of shape, crumbled from people breaking it, eroded from the trust I’ve given. But it still has a pulse, for it still feels the good and the evil.

I’m aware that people think I’m crazy, but do I believe that? I know that I’m f***ed in the mind but does that make me crazy? For knowing if I’m crazy will always remain a mystery to me. Something that I will forever live my life not knowing a definite answer. For the picture will forever be to blurry to make it out.