1999-2013

I feel like I'm decaying. I've got maggots in my brain and worms in my heart. They're all telling me that this isn't going to last long. That soon enough I'll fade back into the shadows of my ridiculously perpetual routine. And I really have no doubt that this will happen soon. With the morning frost comes the frost on my heart. With the falling leaves comes the falling of my spirit. With the glistening snow comes the glistening tear drops, dripping into my ears. Maybe I am decaying. But here it won't matter; as long as the funeral is expensive and the flowers are fresh from Fiji. As long as the black mourners shawls are Marc Jacobs and the coffin is made of first class wood. As long as I'm dressed in billion dollar jewels. As long as I died luxuriously. I'm broken and bruised inside, but on the outside I'm just like them. Falling into line. Gushing over boys. Smacking on lip gloss. Bragging about my new phone. Trying to be like everyone else. I don't want this anymore. But I don't know how to break down a door without razing a whole house. We are so desperate to be our own person that we eventually drown in our own misconceptions. Maybe I am decaying. So go get your flower crowns. Act like you cared about me. Send me your last regards. But it's too late. I'm already six feet under.