Razor wire sunrise

Woke in a box, no light, just grey— Steel bed, cold floor, years to pay. Wasn’t framed. I earned my time. Ran with wolves. Got lost in crime. Name was gone. They gave me a tag. Fought for smokes, respect, a rag. Learned to stare with a deadman’s face, Learned the rules of a lawless place. Every night: screams, shanks, sweat. Dreams don’t grow where the soul gets wet. I laughed like a devil, cried like a kid, Wrote poems in my head for the things I did. But one day light broke through the yard, Not sun—some ex-con spitting bars. Said: “You ain’t done ‘til you choose to die.” And damn, I felt that line inside. So I picked up words like I used to pick locks. Used pain as ink, and truth as rocks. Built my house with no front door— You want my past? It’s on the floor. Called my mum—voice cracked mid-call. Said, “Ma, I’m still here. I’m coming back.” She cried. I broke. It hurt like hell. But I crawled through fire to leave that cell. Got out. Clean. A second chance. But the world don’t clap when a con can dance. No job, no flat, just closed-off looks. They see your record, not your books. I slept in parks, I starved for days. The streets hit harder than prison plays. Stood on bridges, wind in my coat, Thinking ’bout jumping, writing a note. But I didn’t. Lit a cig. Took a breath. Said, “F*** you, death—not yet, not yet.” Walked off cold, with nothing but will— Still breathing, still broken, but breathing still. Now I spit fire on stage for the lost. Turn my scars into art, no matter the cost. I’ve been the monster, I’ve felt the blade. But I found peace in the mess I made. I ain’t your hero, I ain’t reborn. Still got rage, still weather-worn. But I’m here, I’m loud, I’ve earned my say— Built my sunrise the outlaw way. So if you’re down, and life gets grim— Look to the edge, then walk back in. ’Cause if I can rise from where I bled— You can write a life from stone and lead.