suburbia

sometimes, i think i’d do anything to be like you. even when my heart burns with hatred, and envy. to have a garden, and a lawn. and something all my own. a family. i’d like to walk inside and say honey i’m home and know that every inch of this is built on love. and when i’m gone, someone has to remember me. someone will grow up good, and happy. sometimes i think i’d do anything. i’d shove my dreams under the welcome mat, i’d sell my soul for plastic costco wreaths. for something like home; something like peace. for an aching monotony, and vacations to the beach. a square patch of dirt, to set down my feet. sometimes, i want to burn it all down. that perfect life, where i will die forgotten. and if i can’t have it all, then they can’t either, goddammit. cause you have it so good. or you’re wasting away. or you’re a cog in the machine, you’re collateral damage, about to snap in two. and it still doesn’t feel okay. with butterfly wings slipping down your throat; a slow death of high-heeled shoes and pretty coats. i hope you’re happy. i hope it’s worth it.

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