Rusty Armored Princes and Hungover Damsels

Waiting for something new,
Something more, to come
and escort me into the blue.
Sitting in a dreary
bathroom, so bland,
Soaking up the words of an
underground band.
Creating drug addictions
and schemes in my mind,
Leaving trips and hangovers
to cruel to be kind.
Cutting the skin on my
wrists telepathically,
Using its pain to paint
salvation graphically.
Conjuring fantasies just
to create a new story,
Left with no fame of
glory.
So relentlessly sick of
monotonous days,
Once broken apart by rebellious
ways.
Just because I’ve changed,
Doesn’t mean I can’t
imagine myself still estranged,
Still holding bottle after
bottle to my lips,
And caressing fake
nostalgia into vacant strips.
As I wait, bottling up
these psychotic dreams,
And watch each one burst
at its bloody seams.
Pulling out already
thinning hair,
As I wish only to run to…
somewhere.
Waiting for something new,
Something more, to come
and escort me into the blue.