Fabrication

"How Do I Feel Today" written out of depravity of sleep, of self assurance of happiness written out of love and vulnerability I was so sure, aware; I had a plan! but as the case with all my well made plans they're crumbled pieces of paper lost in the trash though it's me I'm the one who feels lost, lost in the trash Just last week, was it only a week since I've tried to deny my genetic composure as a pessimist, declare my love for an optimist while notifying, stating my heart is in cahoots with another who may know how I feel I asked once why couldn't I be a paper plane perfectly sculpted and flying free last weeks, I was that very place staying in the air, holding on to the wind in my hair but on Sunday, waiting for an answer Sunday, I found my answer as a sword of silence caught me in my descent to say my love was a fabrication my experience was a dream never to be seen again without a memento to know it was real What hurts more, more than any lie there's been no voice to reason, no one to give explanation! only empty silence I'm far too acquainted with So I fill the silence with the strongest option to hate Sundays, hate this song, and boycott love since it's always Sundays Sundays' what it takes to prove I have something else to lose and this time I've lost sleep I've lost the means of any kind of relief Nothing I do rids me of the poisoned storm running amuck on the inside I'm not in junior high anymore it's the first truth I muttered to myself today but that very fact is another mark upon the list of why I should implode, a supernova spontaneously combust, explode burst into flames, a volcano on the sun My life began at 12, ended at 13 while the other 19 years and 3 months I was in a fog that gave birth to a tornado for I was without parents unless you call an 8 hour facility plus added daycares as extended guardians I was without siblings only sparring partners and strangers I never see I've had no friends, just fickle masses of acquaintances who barely even remember my name One year I lived, one year! and at the oblivious conclusion all is still baffled why I'm suddenly angry, enraged a child in size 14 shoes, a child in adult clothing because I lose myself in all colors and audio to leave behind the louder thought one more year I exist in misery will be the one less year I can hold back hold down these suicidal tendencies Memories provide not comfort nor refuge as I slip through the trauma made cracks of my glass half empty reciting sighs, words of confliction and a prescription of my own demise I'm not in junior high anymore and all I can do is look at the sky like somehow my answers have floated up there but instead I'm only tempted to shout words of profanity, curse whoever is listening while stomping the Earth's crust so whoever is tormenting me may disappear from my presence, part from me like the sea leaving me be but I rest in a chair, confessing my deepest emotions a portable church confessional like what ails me will lift from my shoulders when I know as I stand I'll feel the sting of the world crashing down around me I beg of you someone aid me, I can't do this alone yet who am I shouting to no one cares to hear my despair but it's my ears they grace with theirs and I only have a pencil plus fading paper no one will bother to read to know anything! though it's others whose voice rang softer than mine whose had the chance to be heard by the world while I struggle to even get my own mother to hear me out! So I run, am running to an island of rain to live again, to be happy again to find my faith in life, in love again a reintroduction to a life I want but don't have so I run, am running to an island of rainfall a haven to escape the memories killing me I'm not in junior high anymore and with it every ounce of happiness I once had buried in a time capsule without mementos to say it was real left in a house I can hardly remember I hate this, I hate this; how has no one realized I've created and cling to a world of magic, illusions, fantasy because my real life is tragic I cling to a world of fairytales, the impossible told by foreign people in a foreign place in a foreign language I can't understand yet somehow they understand me whereas my familiarities only see me as a stranger, a statistic, a color instead of unraveling me a ball of yarn to see see what lies beneath I'm not in junior high anymore but this can't be how the world is what proof do I have though besides movie references where things are better yet aren't they only fabrications in a world too ordinary This was supposed to be my year and tomorrow is my birthday while today feels like Christmas Eve but I've never had a birthday nor Christmas I wished for I've had a "19 Midlife Crisis" and I believe this might be 20 all because I had the audacity to challenge my anatomy for a love I can't obtain not today, not tomorrow, maybe soon I'm not in junior high anymore, only in reality I remain under sweet suffocation from the nightmares I jolt awake afraid they might become real I'm not in junior high anymore but let the curtain fall, blue for calmness belting out one last request as it drops BREAK ME OUT OF THIS!!! break me out... as I bleed the story of.... Me...