roman westbrook | district two cb

Kingdoms always crumble, but it's not until the crown begins to rust that you realize it was never made of gold. Pride ate away at my parents, love withered into something they didn't remember how to give. Catching on cobwebs in empty rooms, purged of every precious thing to keep food on the table. So then they sold the house to keep the memories from eating them alive.

They're not dead, but I held a funeral for them anyway.

People only see what shines, so I've got a habit of setting myself on fire. I'm only at home at the center of attention. More than that, I'm desperate for it.

It's like falling from grace but I've never felt the impact. Walking on broken bones through gilded doors, smiling wider than the day before. Call me an addict, I probably am. To the fall, not the casinos. I'm a hunter by nature. Spewing sticky little lies that earn me as much money as I lose. Full pockets bleed themselves dry because I never learn but neither do they.

So please, underestimate me.