"I wish one of your guys had children so I could kick them in their fuckin head or stomp on their testicles for you can feel my pain - because that's the pain I have, waking up every day..." (villains are always more interesting than heroes)

photo source

i am
a construction paper
third grade art class project
that didn't turn out right,
but my mom hung on the fridge
because of the effort.

i can't figure out
how to walk.
how to use my lungs.
how to get a job.
how to save money.
how to gain weight.
how to keep friends.
how to meet people.
how to help the world.
how to eat healthy.
how to assimilate.
how to fix my brain.
how to attain nirvana.
how to be happy.

i try,
but no superhero
will be able
to save me;
they aren't real.

i can't figure out how to live,
which is why i've doused myself,
and the earth in gasoline.

i flick a white plastic lighter
with my thumb,
and watch the flames
blitzkrieg my skin
and the rest of the planet
watching it burn.
turning us red,
we will remain motionless.

it feels warm,
like sitting around
a campfire, wrapped
in a blanket, next
to someone who cares,
and is willing to listen.

mummified in white ash
like the people of pompeii,
the sun will erase
the remains of our existence
with its breath
like the daughter i will never have
scattering the seeds of a dandelion,
and making a wish.