My Ego Smells 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 vulnerably to madness.
I count my lucky stars as the 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'm 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 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.