Untitled Original.

Think your brain into mush,
where it pools as blood in your heart,
thinking in your chest, beating in your head.
The floor littered with bent bottlecaps and broken dreams,
shy from reality, take solace in fantasies,
dreams shatter as glass,
uncomfortable on your ass;
get up, get out and do something about what?
About nothing, you can't create something from the emptiness,
suffocating and dark,
fall back on what you know
and be unhappily alone.