What it cost me
The quiet broke first—
one hit too many,
promise shattered like glass underfoot.
I looked at the man who was supposed to love me
and saw the dog that bit.
Not guilty—
I put him down like the threat he was,
no happy ending illusion,
just me bailing before the ship dragged me under.
You swore you’d save me,
hand out like salvation,
but your eyes screamed you hated me—
twisting the knife with every soft word,
control burning deep in my mind.
Broken open,
words failing,
apologies endless—
but I stand anyway.
Talk spread poison through town,
but I didn’t deserve that.
I hopped ship clean, head high,
no remorse dragging behind.
That escape turned everything into a battlefield—
centuries deep in my veins,
trust no man, read enemies quick
or they end you standing.
Soldiers at stations, armor locked.
No retreat.
This war’s what we’ve waited for.
Hey dad, look at me—
did I grow up according to plan?
Never good enough, chasing fire
instead of your blueprint,
every disapproval carving fresh lines.
Welcome to my life
where perfect’s a cruel joke
I quit laughing at.
I’m not okay—
barely getting by,
losing days to fog,
sleep to the dark creeping in.
Hanging on rails,
hiding cracks behind a mask
that’s thinning fast.
Tears could talk if they weren’t drowned out—
save me from myself.
I’ve lived in hell so long
it’s the only home that fits,
a lifestyle killing slow
but keeping the quiet.
Creature under the bed,
dragon at the window—
I accepted the challenge long ago,
turned savage to survive.
Rock bottom’s comfortable,
feet planted while the world panics.
Beauty in the damaged,
no fear of the boogieman—
he’s just an old friend now.
Loyalty heavy,
depression sinking teeth,
but I stay stuck,
ride or die even when it bleeds.
Raw and unfiltered,
hating the hate
but grinding through real
every single day.
A sinner like me,
still breathing through the wreckage—
love like this makes doubters choke.
Always by your side,
we’re going to make it this far.
Cross what’s mine
and lines are drawn.
Strange things love pulls—
ride or die no matter the storm.
Cross me and you’re buried—
I’ll kick dirt on your grave
and keep walking.
Dirtbag baby,
a little wild,
a little crazy.
Neighbors stare—let them.
I own every scarred inch.
In the end it doesn’t even matter
how far we crawled,
how hard the pressure crushed—
we’re numb,
still fighting.
Voices crack at 3 a.m.,
speakers shaking walls,
no whispers of alright.
We roar it:
these scars we claim—
we already own them.
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