Flawed Portrayal

Suicidal Recital

I have a problem.
I bang my wrists on the wall, to make a sound when my mouth can't.

I'm outspoken.
I speak my insecurities and disgust, in terms of retribution.

I feel like the scapegoat.
So blame me.
When I try to speak, it's a sin.
I'll stay quiet and mess with myself in silence.

One day.
That's all you will hear.
The white noise.

You should be scared.
I've completed my recital.
I'm ready for the debut.

I asked for help, if they could read between the lines.
My wrists bruised from my pent up rage.
The scrip has been tampered with, I simply want to set it right.

Did I tell you I tried to hang myself?
The final act is near...

I hate my guts but you won't see scars, it's all in mind.

Emotional sabotage.
Nobody cares, even if they did, my mind won't let me believe them. I can't believe them.

I want to fly.
Like a bird.
Only the ones with broken wings.

I'll vent out my frustrations and insecurities on my wrist.
Await the final act.

The audience might cry.
The antagonist wins.
The Hadida screams:

THE END