If I was a cigarette
I'd be menthol
If I was a flower
I'd be a daisy
If I was a pair of shoes
I'd be converse
If I was a weather
I'd be rain
If I was a liquid
I'd be water
If I was a school grade
I'd be a B
If I was yours
You'd think about her
It's not just a burning self hatred
It's a lot more than that
A lot deeper than just that
It stretches to wishing your parents never met
It stretches to almost despising your grandparents
Although they're in heaven
You have a guilty hate
That they were once in love
They were so in love they made children
Who made you
And you were born
And YOU have to live with that until the day
The day you pluck up any sort of courage
Courage to stop being a coward
To do it
Everybody would be better of
You belong in hell
You shouldn't be here
I can't describe it
Every time you speak to me
I lose all my feelings
I become numb
My fingers tingle
My toes curls
And my stomach does somersaults
I think about you
Minute, hour, day
I tell my friends about your smile
I imagine you holding me
Every once in a while
Makes no sense
Mirror, mirror, don't you see,
What you show is destroying me?
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why cant I be thin, skinny and tall?
Mirror, mirror, I do not eat,
So why am I so fat, from my head to my feet?
Mirror, mirror, you're doing it again,
Is this you or is it in my head?
I suppose maybe I should sleep,
To rid of these crazy thoughts.
Maybe I should take a shower,
Paint my fingernails a summery color,
Run myself a nice warm bath and light a scented candle,
Pick up a pencil and sketch my surroundings,
Dial my lovers digits and have a meaningful talk,
Read my favorite book for the 213th time,
Put on my glasses and count every sparkling star shining bright,
Perhaps I should even name those stars,
Maybe I should bake some cookies,
Maybe I should do something I absolutely adore doing.
Yes, I suppose I should.
But the one thing that tops all of those things and wins every time,
Is the one thing I shouldn't do.
Something I don't love to do.
I pick up the gun,
Silence myself by wrapping my swollen lips around the tip,
My finger barely slips,
And the wall behind me is stained crimson red.
Vivid red lips.
Eyes wide like grandfather clocks.
And bottled blonde perhaps platinum locks.
Fake beauty spot,
Silky skin burning hot.
Bats her eyes,
Gives John butterflies.
Everybody loves her,
The men all pay her.