Welcome to my mind,
In it you'll find,
All the tribulations,
Of life's complications.
The complex nature will drive you insane,
So the welcome is not for the mundane.
Turn when you still can,
And don't try to understand.
A mismatched mess,
Of all my stress.
In the corner all alone,
A box rests chained and worn.
In the back a gruesome scene,
The phase of mutilation so it seems,
In the corners lurk darkness,
On the sides,
Stacks of knives.
Paper litters the surroundings,
Thoughts of my founding.
Bleeding on the sides,
Pain will always reside,
Because I'm the broken,
I'm the token.
I'm the representation,
The voice of a generation.
In the middle hovers a glass box,
Brittle with no locks.
This is the outside view.
A glass house worn and used.
But theirs more to it,
So just turn away and quit.
You see I'm a scarred entity,
With no way to believe,
In light reserved for me.
What these marks represents,
Is the strength the scars lent,
All this says is i am the personification.
I am the broken generation.
A picture of a torn person inside,
With no fear to die.
With no reasons why.
But I'm here.
Ready to try.