kenji nakamura || district five || cb || fin

Dead



Certain of a fate, one deserved,
A spot in hell already reserved,

Ripred above will guide your way,
So who gives a fuck what you have to say?

Life across eighteen years hasn't been so great,
Full of pain and filled extra full of hate,

A mother who made an early relocation to the grave,
A father who dove into the poison and emerged quite depraved,

Life of an orphan left hunger and thirst unsatiated,
But only slightly worse than an uncle who merely tolerated.

Day in, day out, there's no shortage of heat in your heart
Even if at times there's no greater desire than to tear it all apart,

Tragedy, torment, pain,
Or sometimes just your own worst bane,

Decisions, decisions, some pragmatic, some merely sin,
Sometimes a thought - There's really no way to win.

Wake up, go to school, live your life
Would things really be better without any strife?



Or.



Is strife the fuel you need to feel something?
Something to enjoy, to take on the power to proclaim yourself king?

Curiosity led to pain, a busted lip and a black eye,
But the next day you returned, face set in stone and gifting not even one tear to cry,

A rhythm that you fit into like a glove,
Muted cheers and jeers but no true hatred to speak of,

Strip your shirt and tape your fists,
Let the anger fill you until, by Ripred, you were pissed.

A thousand bottled emotions released four times a week,
So much more satisfying than simply turning the other cheek.

Sometimes you'd taste victory, others you'd lose,
A burn in your muscles; and for skin, the art of the bruise,

But every time you'd leave with an adrenaline high,
Such fun it was, it was a shame every night to say goodbye,

Aches and pains and your canvas battered
Got you more than a few strange looks, but fuck em, who even mattered?

It's not a place that many would expect one to thrive,
So why then, after each fight, do you feel so



Alive?