Prop Room

Posted: June 26, 2007 in Imagery, Life, Poetry

Sugar glass resounds as I fly through the fake window of my life

There’s nothing left for me here

Why not let it out?

I’ll tell all those motherfuckers

The pain they’ve caused

Screw the lessons they’ve tried to instill on my living corpse

Because those actors slash musicians can ruin my life with a well placed comment

I don’t need this rich bitch

Superior people and their bullshit baggage

Their tagalong friends who do everything they say

So I step onto the set of my life

Tear down the props they’ve laid out for me

Say a final fuck you as I grind their fake glass beneath my feet

And though I risk the pain

The pain of misstepping

At least I know it’s real

None of this bullshit you give me.


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