• My headphones stay in, blaring a filter against the sounds around me.
    My eyes stay closed, for I am sick of watching the world decay.
    My lips never part, my ideas are not deemed acceptable.
    If chivalry is dead, who will leave flowers on my tombstone, for I am still noble?
    My courtesy is a mask, sadness building for those who don't see the destruction.
    I block myself from the world, so don't look for the key.
    So don't talk to me, I won't listen.
    No more cards, I only look at them as the flames lick higher.
    Your lips don't belong against mine, I'll bite them at next contact.
    They say I'm self-destuctive, watching me as they think I decay.
    But I am on the other side of the looking glass.
    Some turn to violence, others a razor. They say we can't understand what they go through.
    But I have fist shaped dents in my wall.
    My arms bear silvery scars, a reminder.
    Pain can't heal pain, so I no longer hold a razor, or clench my fists.
    So who are you calling self-destructive?