• She's lost in a never ending dessert
    Filled with years of pain,
    And moments of pleasure.
    She willingly swallows the plastic, red and blue wind
    And enjoys her time in artificial bliss
    But then falls into despair when she can't find an oasis
    Sometimes at night she cries, but in the morning-
    She doesn't have a problem
    And even if someone did find her,
    What would she do then?
    Just expect her to take her back,
    With open arms, purposely ignorant to her past,
    And the innocence it should have?
    She's self-unforgiven and her sins unforgotten.
    She's too young to be here,
    But her imaginary friends tell her she's safe.
    And honestly, when the hell dust surrounds her,
    She doesn't mind.
    It's better than being perfect,
    Which is really only determined
    By how well you hide the pain.
    For a while it’s easy and the dessert spins,
    Like a carousel, she can watch her life pass by her.
    Funny how it’s the same thing over and over again.
    The rain never falls, but the sun beats down
    Calling her a hypocrite for the things she hates
    Like the vast emptiness and burning heat of the dessert.
    "But," She replies. "It's only hypocrisy,
    If I like what I've done."
    But honestly, what's wrong with who she's become?
    She's just like all the other monsters
    Who've killed themselves enough to be stuck,
    But not enough to be dead.
    Monsters who barely exist.
    But then again, what does 'exist' mean?
    A verb, meaning to be and be not dead
    To her it's barely breathing.
    To live but not be living.
    To speak in third person,
    So she can forget,
    She's me.