I sit here on a sunken bed,
Surrounded by bright, meaningless colors,
The room itself numbed by patterns and details,
So many treasures,
So many "important" awards, trophies,
So many perfectly stacked books,
So many perfectly arranged pictures of a perfectly posing girl,
All of it means nothing, NOTHING!!!
And yet everything
Every little freaking thing in this little freaking room,
Is a part, a piece, a puzzle,
Of my existence
All of this is me as I exist in their eyes
Sometimes I just want to sweep my arm across the dresser,
Throw everything to the floor,
Watch the cheap perfume bottles shatter, sending hazy fumes into the air.
Sometimes, I just want to stab a knife through the paintings,
ripping straight down and leave the canvas flying.
Breaking all the sculptures, decided I won't exist anymore.
Sometimes, I just really want to break these windows I sleep by,
And slip my pale legs through the shattered glass.
I want to hold the match and let it lick my finger,
I want to feel the kiss of the winter night on my bare skin,
I want to sleep on the grass and watch the stars shift slowly,
While someone special whispers promises in my hair.
I want to do the craziest, angriest, emotional actions possible,
And it often feels like my mind is a corked bottle, slowly shaken,
Ready to burst.
I won't exist anymore, I don't want to be