No melodies compares to mine.
Even the saddest song on the radio wont' do,
to a melancholic tune i play every night.
Just a usual sound for people
who lost their will to fight.

My demise
I cannot despise
I'll look it in the eyes
And accept my poem dies
I'll soar in the skies
For days
While nobody cries
And everyone strives
After their derives

I used to be addicted
to the feeling of a blade
pressing into my skin.

I used to be addicted
to seeing those red dots
forming a ****** line.

I used to be addicted
to my own blood and
the relief it brought me.

I used to be addicted
to metal.


the world must be addicted
to the feeling of power and
violence and destruction.

the world must be addicted
to bullets in brown flesh
and mothers' cries.

just like I was, the world
must be addicted to blood.
its iron still tastes metallic.
it's still red.

just like blood,
guns also taste metallic
when the barrel is
in your mouth.


the world and I
have different views,
but we have one
thing in common.

we're both addicted
to metal.