S.A.M.O pt.2

I’m from the city of red suns and chaos.
Almost anything can be bought, it’s just a matter of cost.
Started drinking at twelve cause I couldn’t cope with the loss.
Existentialism is prison, constricts the walls of your mind. In youth many bed-sheets were tossed.
Perpendicular strains of thought makes a jack a naive boy. At thirteen, my belly was full but I still hungered for something more.
At fourteen I realised I hated suburban people, idealistic bigots, my treatment here is never equal. I’m obsidian trapped in silicon. A disowned little bastard. I ran after the matter between life’s brittle plaster. All my life I wanted to live and die by the sword. Kill, and prey to be killed. Mother raised me too well.
I had to live by my words. Watch the mischief and never interact.
Adaptation to crime is sublime when mortgages go sub-prime. At fifteen, mentality bends and twists.
Switchblade at my neck. All for the pursuit of thrills and respect.
Cold-heart formed over time.
Snap an icicle off it and cut out your eye.
Sixteen spiritual awakens occur.
Anger management coincides with progression of experience.
My new violence becomes art itself.
The maturation of my passions.
My will to power, separate the black rose from the hesitant lilac.
The soul is poetry but the mind is still war ready. Conflict between selves tearing at concept of 'me’.
S.A.M.O