Take that walk

730087The record oscillates as
an eyesore rug,
inviting and rough,
scathes against my palms.

The ceiling is
afraid to blur or turn, it dangles,
comatose, stares right through me,
yellowing and cracked.

I live inside
what I cannot change or borrow,
flipping through identity cards
which do not match my face,
my traits, my date of birth.
I am young and I am disgusted.
What’s worse,
I can’t even explain my reasoning.
But listen anyway;
my hell should be your ultimate priority.

I will not sugarcoat my lips
or blunt my tongue
or spare you;
I’m taking the plunge
and you’re coming with me.