This is me

I don't know whether I'm anything more than yesterday,
no idea the person I am today,
just a small town girl,
souped up cars and drugged out dreams,
with fairy tales and merry go rounds with amber lights.
At thirteen I knew I wanted to be more,
stretch my wings and fly away.
Crashed and burned,
left overs from days like today.
Suicidal maniac,
poetic killings a dream,
proud to be Canadian,
but I'm just a small town girl.
I've made my mistakes on the way,
threw a band-aid on my bruised little heart.

Threw away all my fairy tale dreams,

crumpled paper now litters my floor,

screwed up moments so torn apart,

and I just fight to be me.

Lifes murder,

but death wouldn't suffice.

Draw me another label to put with this shit,

cause me more trama than any other day,

its just the way it always was.

No more cocktail drinks,

arsenic laced butter scotch fudge,

Mama baked a fresh batch of cookies,

but mama also bagged the milkman again!

Crazed and dazed moments,

to bitter and worn to think,

not another day in the life of me,

my toes tremble on the edge,

teetering on the thought of this.

What more could I ask for,

that this drugged out pyscopath doesn't already have?

Another flesh and burn memory,

singed and cringed to die.

This is me,

and all I'll ever be!