GONE

When it's like this, it's like i don't even exist, really.
Too many thoughts are jumping on trampolines all throughout my head.
I can hear the voices perfectly, through my little, minuscule eardrums and my big earlobes.
And how cute are you with your perfect shirt and your perfect hair
While I'm on the edge of death sitting on the sidewalk with a black figure hovering over me
readying itself to blow my head into literal pieces so they can splatter all over the coffee bistro's windows.
When it's like this, i feel pretentious.
Like i'm unknowing of every surrounding thing that closes me in, and secures me every single day. I make myself look better than gold, but I'm not really.
I'm no arrogant sonofabitch.
Just a stupid one.
Ignorance is bliss.
Blissful in your head, and up your nose.
You drag your lone blanket on the gravel as the rocks roll behind you like cans on a bicycle.
You think to yourself, "I'm no child" but you are.
You have evidence grasped in your hand like a baby's neck. It's trailing behind you now
letting everyone know you don't want to grow up.
You don't want to die.
The black figure is now breathing down your neck
leaving condensation dripping off of your hair, onto your shoulders.
You don't want to grow up, and get rid of that blanket.
You vomited on that thing.
It's getting even closer now.
Lighting the blanket on fire, ripping the thumb off of your very hand.
Your eyes get smaller, and your face gets wrinkly.
It's picking out your casket.
Your tombstone.
You have no comfort, no self esteem.
It's time to grow up.
It's time, to die.

Sleep with the worms, kiddo.
Hope to see you soon someday.