Biting the Fucking Hand that Feeds

*After listening to too much Nine Inch Nails*
 
Everyone’s perfect little girl.
Size 8 bleach blonde Barbie doll.
This is what you want.  
And this is what I’m not.
I try and try again.  
To be a somebody.
To be the perfect girl you  all want me to be.
Yeah you just keep tearing holes in my stockings.
Yes sir, no sir.
Just vomiting up my last meal, sir.
Just the way you like me.
Oh I’ll knock ‘em dead!
But, they all seem to laugh at me trying to be a big shot.
 
Outcast by society for not being a someone.  
I can’t live in this world built by others.  
I can’t live in this jungle.
I can’t stand being pushed around.
I can’t do it anymore.  
Your order is my disorder as it sends me  
down,
                    Down,
                                               Down
Into the depths of my deliriously deranged depression.
       Into the jungle of my own mind.  
I step into it.
My reality has committed
      suicide
in the depths of my
     insanity.
Disorientated by the orientation of your reality.
       Breakfast. Lunch. Death is more certain.
I’m escaping reality to get away from my real life,
   the life you murdered.  
       Expectations. Criticisms. Death is more certain.  
The ideology of society makes me sick.
       Bills. Taxes. Death is more certain.

Denial my only friend, the disorder of my mind.  
Oh no, I’m fine.
Why yes I am bleeding out in this gutter that you’ve torn and
       left me in.
But I’m fine.
My mind is shot, but my brain is fine.
       No it’s  not.
Yes it is.
       No.
Yes.
      Fine.
My delightful delirium.
   My oh my!
The obscurity of my delusion!
I should be locked away for something so
stark-raving
    mad!  
My rejection of this reality!
   It should be a sin.
There are no rules when I go down.
    Stranger and stranger.  
  
     Curiouser and curiouser
as I follow the morbid little rabbit into
   the oblivious delusions of the nightmarish  
corners of my mind.
   What an estranging tangle!
A chaotic mind.
      And I wouldn’t have it any other way
because I’m a slave to my psyche.
My obsession.
     My destruction.
     I’m a big shot!
       Hey, hey!
    Ho, ho!
       Hey, ho,
    let’s go!
My delusion, you ask?
Oh, just a little something called
       freedom of expression.
The freedom to
   wear what I want, say what I want,
without being judged.  
The biggest delusion of all,
      that I could ever be myself  
       around these people.
But what if I could?

My insanity reaches
   down
   into
    the
       inky
    depths
     of
   oblivion
     and
   pulls me
   back to the
   glassy surface.
Told me to make my delusions a reality.
My reality.
To stand on my own two feet,
and to fight.
 
To escape this diseased reality,
I must build my own.  
Society? Fuck it.
Conformity? Fuck it.
The so-called truth? Fuck it.
I’ll see the real truth,
through my looking glass.
Take the red pill, so to speak.
I'll bite the hand of society.

The hand that feeds?
More like the hand that starves
to shed that extra kilo of a woman’s ass.
To make her hate herself.
That smacks her down.
Again.
And again.  
And again.
Until there’s nothing left of her.
Your poison-filled criticisms have filled my
veins for the last time, my strength is lent to
me by my delusions.
My delusions of a world where your criticisms
don't affect me.
Oh, you wanna spit acid?
Spit it at my face instead.
It is you who are the cowards, not me.
So screw you.
Fuck this.
You like that I hurt myself?  
How about you pitch in and help fill that perfect hole.
I’m not listening to your lies and deception anymore.
I’m out of the jungle now and I’m gonna shine like
the diamonds I found in my insanity.