My existence is a lie.
My thoughts are morbid and dark.
If anyone were to know what I was thinking at any given moment,
I would be checked into a mental institution.
They would try to fix me up.
Say it's for my own good.
Mold me into one of their perfect dolls,
One of their Barbies.
The thing is I don't want to be perfect.
I don't want to be beautiful,
I don't want to be fake or plastic.
I don't want to be anyone's babe boe that they can toy around with whenever they please.
My thoughts are morbid and scary.
The reason I am on the verge of collapsing.
I am a spaceship on self-district.
The timer is broken,
And no one knows when I'll explode.