My Ego Taste Like Burnt Toast

I’m glass melting on sunburned skin;
Irrational in my pain, I seek to cool and harden
For such sticky raw softness leaves me vulnerable to madness.
I count my lucky stars as they fall,
Leaving behind a black boring hallow darkness that
Seems to sit behind my pupils.
Tears are pulled out of my eyes like yarn.
Leaving knots to tight to untie in my stomach;
My mind is sucked up through a straw and swallowed carelessly at high speeds.
I’m the cheap stuff; eighteen year old melted goo,
White with age.
Something kept to be savored but in the end thrown out, flat,
Gone bad.
I am your favorite CD that skips at the best bits,
Still spinning, wishing I could deny how bad this feels,
A hurt despite dead skin,
But damn, I’m nothing but a joke with too  quickly delivered punch line,
A laugh that went stale in someone’s sweaty palm.
I’m a pale paste wanting to be told I’m magic.
A crouton dreaming of being someone’s bread.
Disappointed in who I’ve disappointed,
Yet I still have an ego, it constantly tells me that it’s my fault
For your wrongs.
But can I be blamed? I’m just a PB and J sandwich dropped peanut-side down.
I’ll get stuck on the roof of your mouth along with the cat hair.
I’m just a pile of melted crayons in a baby’s car seat, wishing they were valued like Picasso.
Don’t forget your suntan lotion, you wouldn’t want to melt like I did.
Don’t forget your ray of sunshine,  Here comes someone else’s problem walking by.