warning: a very angsty poem i wrote on a bad brain day
crumble, and melt, like summer ice. i guess this is just what happens sometimes. when i keep myself up, worrying, then melt down to nothing, and stare at my reflection in the puddle of what i used to be.
’cause i’m cracked out on the sidewalk, and evaporating, ever-so-slowly. as the dizzy nights pump through my veins, and there’s blood on my hands, blood on the sidewalk, blood for days.
and i know it’s not fair, i know it’s not my fault–but that doesn’t make it any better, all right? it just makes me angry. because i can scream at the sky all i like, but in the end, i can’t change the world.
so instead, i’ll set my old photos alight, and bury my past selves six feet under, where the sun will never shine. because i don’t know what i think, i don’t know what to do, and i’ll laugh about this later, of course i will; gloat in all-knowing pride. and hide the evidence under the rug, so no one finds out i’m anything less than a god tonight.
but i can’t do it. can’t fit this into a day. can’t write the poems down fast enough, because there’s an avalanche in my mind. and tomorrow, in the morning sun, i am filthy and worthless, i have already half-given-up. but maybe this time, it’ll be different. maybe this time i won’t hide.
but i don’t want to grow, or change if it means i can’t sleep at night.