She sits there quietly,

Laying still;

But her head is spinning.

It seems to never slow down.

She’s living in a perpetual ghost town.

Population one.

Dry run;

Handgun.

Her legs are crossed,

Pretending—

That her life isn’t ending,

One line,

One lie at a time.

Truth is,

Her tranquility fools all,

But the one within.

She has a lot of fears;

Deep down she knows, it’s all just smoke and mirrors.

Bullshit;

Hypocrite.

And nothing fits.

High off pills and potions,

Oxy has this white girl lacking emotions.

Externally,

She’s calm and serene,

Reality—

She’s anything but clean;

When playing her favorite role as

Trap queen.

Internally,

She begins to scream.

Then the drugs hit her bloodstream.

You’re telling me this isn’t the American dream?

And so she figures out her next scheme.

Truth or dare?

Gasp for air,

But there’s nothing left;

Identity theft.

Sounds want to escape,

But something exacerbates the movement from taking shape.

As if she ever had a choice.

Rejoice?

She thinks not,

She needed a shot,

As the demons creep up like an aching twinge,

She wipes out her orange syringe.

How can something so bad feel so good?

One word, misunderstood.

She finds herself in the wrong neighborhood,

Three times a day,

Fuck.

She knows this is not okay.

And so,

She flys away.

xoxo,

macey bee