it’s not as fun anymore. it’s not pretty. there’s a siren song not far off in the distance, and i can’t get it to leave me be. so i’ll surrender, because it’s easy, and i’m weak, and i guess the flicker of candlelight gives everything a certain kind of beauty.
i needed to rest anyway, i’ll say, and i’ll cut off all my hair, and try not to think about the the blood on my hands. or the scuffs on my throne. because i’d do anything for the slightest chance at success. for high heels and meetings and business suits, and a tiny castle no one else can say they own.
i’d dig a moat around myself with my bare hands, and forge my barbed wire fence from bone. which might be a sign that i’m losing my mind, but isn’t that just what all good artists do? when the words i thought i trusted sink their teeth into my throat, and now it’s one in the morning and i’m a broken record, shattered on the floor all alone.
but i’m in control. i know what i’m doing, and i can ride this out. i’ve done it before. let your waves smash into my shore, and wear me down to bones. rebuilt myself a thousand times, but something’s missing, i know it. and if i make one more wrong step, i’ll be right back where it all begun.
because the floor is spinning, and little black spots dance across my vision. and i’d do anything for a chance to make a life out of this, but i just hoped it wouldn’t have to be my happiness.