Peaky Blinders

Dark and miry — like the human heart.
Bitter and turbulent — like life itself.

At every moment, we must fly — like eagles, like flies, like days.

Pushing forward, through pain, through struggle. We must immerse ourselves in it, just to ignore the people and things that have flown away behind us.

Would life be easier without expectations? But without expectations, how dull and tedious it would be.

So I can only live as myself.

All the madness reflects the youth I once flew through. The relentless struggle forward is my way of growing — perhaps my only way of surviving.

You may despise any way of living, but you should not — and are not qualified to — judge it. You are not the one trapped inside.

I am the one who gets to judge whether it is worth it or not, not you.

Like a black rose — not showy, not ordinary, not endearing.

Dim and thorny, out of place in this world, self-pitying in its solitude.

That is why it is called a black rose, not a rose drowned in the dust of the ordinary.

No matter how broken, I am still me, always me. And you? Are you you?