A Pretty Fine Mess. [Another One of My Poems.]

 My feet are falling through
The charade I told myself was true.
I have a case
Of claustrophobia, there's just no space.
I'm trapped in a mound of glue
I can't find a way to get to you.

I painted a perfect picture and you ruined it by pouring down your ink
So now all the pretty colors are draining down and are beginning to sink.
All these things are beginning to seep
Through, the paint has started to weep.
What a mess, you and I.
We're wading through broken hopes and we don't know what was the truth and what was a lie.

Stop trying to be what you know you aren't
This is madness, not art.
You're just a con who had a lucky start
When you broke your first heart.
A punk who's consumed with their self
And all the trophies sitting on that shelf.

Life is chaos but
You're really living and I'd hate to be there when someone breaks your cocky strut.
In this all, we gain and lose everything
But you let go of nothing.
Just give up, give in
Because soon you're world will end, before it really had the chance to begin.

You had no idea what a mess this would be
I bet you would have acted a bit differently if you had opened your eyes to see.
Who I am now is the product of your mistake
I'm the person you really did break.
I guess I'm saying this to get through to you
But I know you and you’ll deny it all, knowing this is all true.