My walls have been put up.
No more feeling like they don't like me.
No more sharp pain in my wrists and stomach.
When my walls are up i feel as if i was a
perfectly born person,
yet no one is perfect.
The more i build up my walls
brick by brick,
the more i want to see
who the person is that can break them down.
There's a fork in the road in front of me.
At the crossroads of identity.
I start to run,
but my feet dont move.
The devil is standing to my left.
He says 'Either way they lead to death.'
Trying, prying my feet off the ground
step-by-step.
Tripping I try to catch myself,
but i fall,
breaking like a fragile glass being thrown
against the hardest of bricks.
Realizing I cannot be put back together again.
At least not in the same way.
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