A/N: I'd really appreciate reviews! Compliments and constructive criticism are always welcome :)
Eleutheromania- The Rebel
At night, she leaves.
She runs to the monsters in the streets,
and the monsters in the sheets,
to leave the monsters under the bed dead,
and in her red bed head-
then blue, then black, then blonde.
She always forgets to set the alarm.
Because of bets and debts,
she's disarmed herself,
in the hope that the strawberry vodka
will render her long gone.
Because it's better to drown out
the sound of her screams with lean,
than to be stuck in never-ending cycle of bad dreams.
So, she runs faster, further, farther from her father,
while thoughts of "auto-slaughter" run beside her-
his least favorite daughter;
though she's the only one he has.
And even as her fingers twist in the sheets,
and her lungs fill with weed,
she's chalked her regrets up to
the young dweeb in the tweed jacket,
with leather elbow patches,
that stole her heart for the first time.
Now, on Fridays and Saturdays,
pills are popped and lips are locked,
as the drip drop of the bathroom tap
plays in the back
like the eight-track in her grandfather's Cadillac.
And on the Sabbath nights,
she's having her first, second, and third thoughts,
racking archived catalogues,
for a sign that'll show she's not completely lost,
laying in a bed she never bought.
On the trek home she must make,
her left heel breaks.
It's raining so hard the street is a lake
but she's far too drunk to give the walk of shame its namesake.
Mondays come and she's staring in the mirror.
Holding her favorite pair of black scissors,
trying to convince herself that no one will miss her
if she just disappeared.
She writes her favorite people letters
and puts on her favorite black sweater,
because things just aren't getting better.
But as hard as she tries,
something just won't let her.
Tuesday through Thursday pass the same,
with the smoke from the kush clouding her brain,
but on Friday at 6…
she swears she'll do it.
Instead she leaves
A/N: Please, please, please review :)