I can’t tell how to condense my life into 100 words
For a piece of paper
For someone to hold and have and abandon.
Really does a number on your identity.
It’s not hard. It just hurts.
Because it bursts out of me like hot lava.
I find a million dandelions blowing through my head
and they are beautiful
But when they come at you like one furious wave
(a few times a day)
They stick in your nose and eyes and ears
You explode from the inside out
Like a time lapse of a decaying animal.
I don’t want to walk around department stores
that smell like wax crayons
too bright
so everybody looks like a cartoon
Bleeding colors
And breaking the fourth wall
and I fucking hate parallel parking
the silence of Hollywood is deafening
and I will die if I keep eating every meal purchased from the store.
I feel like I’m made of plastic
I breathe and it doesn’t reach my lungs
I eat and I don’t taste
I cry and there’s no burn in my nose anymore
I’m standing in the middle of a 4-way intersection
and a car is coming at me
and I have no idea which way to go.
Is this how it was supposed to feel?