The brain is a machine

Model shards

Dancing under bright lights
In the club
Surrounded by people
Men and woman
Who insist that I'm beautiful;
Who insist I'm perfect;
Who insist I'm happy

But what they don't know
Is that I am not the false,
erroneous design-
The model-
They think I am.

I am the unknown.
I'm the alienated.
I am the scum everyone kicks
From the curve to
The bottom of hell.

"I" am the perfect girl
Everyone sees.
Extravagant, beautiful-
The happy girl.

But
I am not the android you believe I am
I am me.

Me.
The girl with insecurities.
The ugly girl
Both inside and out.

Me.
The girl used by every person,
The walking, shattered mirror,
The wilted rose surrounded by tulips,
The girl looking for the
End.

The end.
A pathway to the end.
The perjury and foolishness
The false beliefs scattered upon myself
Gone.

They way to end the pain
The day-to-day
Torturous routine
That is my entire existence.

So I'll find it.
The end.

I won't be dancing under
Bright lights or black lights.
Not anymore.

The lights will be different.
Three colors.
Dancing on my bedroom walls.
Dancing on the houses of the neighborhood.
Dancing on everything in the vicinity.
But I will not be dancing.