I am glass melting on sunburned skin;
irrational in my pain, I seek to cool and harden
for such sticky raw softness leaves me vulnerable to madness.
I count my lucky stars as they fall,
leaving behind a blank boring hallow darkness
that sits behind my pupils, pulling out yarn
that leaves too tight to untie knots in my stomach;
knitting together things I want the least.
I am sucked up through a straw and swallowed down something yellow,
and it’s gross. Not even an empty box of chocolates,
I am the cheap stuff; eighteen year old melted goo, white with age.
Something kept to be savored but in the end thrown out, flat,
Gone bad. I am your favorite CD that skips at the best bits.
I wish I could deny how bad this feels, a hurt despite dead skin,
but damn, I’m a joke with a too quickly delivered punch line
and I’m a laugh that went stale in someone’s sweaty palm,
squeezed until the eyeballs pop out.
I am a pale paste wanting to be told I’m magic,
A crouton dreaming it could be someone’s bread.
Disappointed in how I’ve disappointed, yet I’ve got an ego still,
Telling me that it’s my fault for another’s wrongs.
But can I be blamed, I’m only a pbj sandwich dropped peanut-side down.
I get stuck on the roof of the mouth along with the cat hair.
I am crayons melted in a baby's carseat, wishing they were valued like Picasso.
Don’t forget to wear the suntan lotion and goggles
because here comes somebody else's problem. |
Submission Name: Ego Tastes like Burnt Toast
