the miserable life of a miserable teenager

like pouring the kerosene.

Go for the razor,

like grabbing a match.

Show my pain,

like lighting the match.

And finally, indulge in the madness,

like dropping the match.

Watch my childhood home, burn.

With it, all the memories, or as I call them

nightmares.

My brother and his friends never threw a worm in my hair and ran away laughing, while I walked home crying.

I never got in trouble the first day we ever saw the house, for sitting on the patio ledge. Never cried in front of the realtor.

I never cried in my daddy’s arms as I told him I was suicidal, purposely keeping out the reason, and he never let go. This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

Say goodbye, it’s all in flames.

Not literally,

but as the blood stains my carpet,

I feel farther than that shy little girl,

than her father.