They fly
Tires screaming against the wet rocks
You're in that one
And that one
Everyone that passes
I don't recognize my face
I don't recognize these cars
Their faces rust and brown under the sky
My face dries and pales
They offer an escape
And I offer a prison
Is my prison so pleasant, as to persuade you to choose it?
Is their escape into bliss, or turmoil?
They pile in the driveway and rot
I lay on the carpet and let myself my tears melt my cheeks
Am I so hopeless?
Are you so far gone?
This music is all the same
Copied and bought like popularity
I am going to cry today
Is that what I need?
I am overflowing with feelings I can't identify
Thoughts about those feelings
Thoughts about those thoughts
Perhaps crying will empty me
Will I prefer being empty and known?
To being full of something I can't understand?
Is writing the answer?
You are everywhere and in everything in see
She taps her foot and it makes me angry
Is she aware how ridiculous she looks?
Why do I see her this way?
I use my hands for journals
The ink will make me sick
But I need to remember, don't I?
I am disgusted by my desires for fiction
And enthralled and heartbroken over my desires for nonfiction
This carpet has walked under my feet since my feet were small
The stains are mine
The rips are mine
Where I sit is new, but feels old
Your scars are on this seat
Or so I'd like to believe
How can image define us?
It reflects not of who we are
We are all so ignorant of the inside
I cannot quit
I am scattered and lost
Can anyone put me back together?