Hot Mess:

   Children, my head is going to explode.  Don't look at my that way.  And this girl is getting sick, off allergies and loneliness.  I'm drowning.  And I cry almost every night. My chest can't rise and fall.  My lungs can't take it in. Because the weight of it all is holding me down like cement shoes in a river.  Heavy heavy boots. Size 5 1/2.  Disguised as ballet flats in sequin black or shiny gold.
   And I'm wasted. The NyQuil, I can still taste it.  Please take this flu.  I hate medicine. I hate. I hate. So full of it.  I am so sick.  Of myself.

   I want outer space.  I want a new obsession.  I can't move forward.  Stuck like bricks in a forgotten wall.  I've imploded like a nova.  It's like pouring kerosine on a fire. Burn. Bum Bump. Bum Bump. I'm never the one I was in life. I've said it before. I've been here before. I'm always here still.
   Nothing is going to work right. I've lost my head. Because how can I explode and implode at the same time?  Easy.  Only I could.  Because only I am that wrong and broken and stuck.
  And I wish I could breath myself invisible.

   Fact:  My blood is lighter fluid, and my heart is a machine.  My thoughts are the oil that make me willing.  And ready to go.scream.cry.choke.back.hold.it.in.be.be.be.

  I am the most perfect mess of things. Tangles of strings and noises and very little color.
And I hope no one reads into this. Because you won't get it.

 ......I feel everything.