I'm moving out of my house soon
I've packed my belongings
My posters, bulletin board and my tarot cards
In brown boxes, packed with not very sticky tape
I packed till my bedroom was empty
Stained with stray paint streaks and sticker marks
Blandly held together by the washi tape stuffed between it
The windows that I call my own are sadder now
No scenery encompasses through its glass
The outside in a stand still
Cars stopped at every second, worrying about crashing for the first time
whirs with ambulances and a brush stroke worth a plague
The office building lights flashed on and off,
A distress signal in disguise
The linoleum coverings in workstations peeled from the corners
The ceiling fan in my room interrupts the view
Creaking again, as if it were like any other day
When I would wear headphones
And temporarily block out my neighbors whines,
The wife of a loan shark, with sympathy measurable by a teaspoon
Lady Pandemia did not yap today,
And she didn't care to talk about butterscotch cookies or a new necklace today
I'm alone in my empty bedroom
Scrubbing away at the walls
Desperate to erase my existence from my own palace
I'm running away from my own life
My feet were never made for dance,
and I don't believe that my mind creates anything worth memories
I'm a part of a doll collection
Blemished leather skin and feet in a ball and chain
steel is really just a tessellation of
complicated numbers and prewritten destinties
Or perhaps a rest stop when one is on a road trip
one of those road trips with malibu sunsets and cheesy music
Where ones final location is a pretty beach house
And I'm just a gas station with twizzlers and toilets reeking of weed
Not much worth remembering
I've snapped out of my daydream
Where I believed that my writing, my art or even my advice made a difference
And so I am layering these boxes in another layer of tape
I'm packing my prized possessions in a small bag that I wave as a white flag
And I'm relishing over the ball and chain around my feet
The metal crunching an approving smile
with that, I wish the room goodbye
Not a see you soon, because that won't happen
And I am made to entertain the audience
Not to compose and create
Because what's the point of creating something priceless,
When you can sell your being for more?
I've left my room now, I'm on my way to
I'm flipping through my story again,
Without writing the fucking story in the first place
(Isn't that the victory in any tragedy?
The hero losing but the villain not winning,
The hero has exited the room
And with that the world shivers and braces
