Is that all I'll ever be?
A blot on the paper of extistence?
The dot in an "i" in the novel of life?
A simple screw in a machinery masterpiece?
A candlesticks glow in a lighthouse?
Unimportant?
Will I always be irrelivent?
My words turned to garble in the ears of others?
My thoughts turned away with the sweep of a hand?
A lone cloud sillouheted on sunrise,
like an island floating solo in a sea stained gold?
Lonely?
Will I never shine?
Like the lipstained druggies I see on TV?
Like the distant twinkle in an eternity of dark?
Like the taste of strong rum and sweet candy lips?
Like the girls who call me names?
Beautiful?
Is this what my life amounts to?
Is this what all the hype about growing up was?
Is this the piss and shit and vomit that run the world?
Is this what I wanted when I was, like, 8?
I thought I wanted to be a nurse.
Not Alone.
Am I always this depressed?
Do I always suck the smiles out of a room?
Do I always walk in on people whispering?
Is it never going to be me giggling?
Giggling with my girls about the loser in the door?
Loser?
I really thought it'd be different.
That I wouldn't have to hide in the shadows anymore.
That people would smile, guys would call, ask me out.
That this gun wouldn't be up against my head.
That the cold metal wouldn't be up against my temple
and that my finger wouldn't be on that damn trigger.
Weeping.
boom.
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