Butterflies come flying out [poetry]

A Poem to Myself

Your dirt metaphors are cliche,
And your poetry sucks.

Commit suicidal plagiarism,
Wrap yourself in rope.

Your rely on everyone,
Like on your own you'd choke.

You clock in smelling like cigarettes,
Clock out like sadness.

You hold onto that sliver of hope,
Like its some silken safetyline.

You act like some ocean you've never seen is home,
But, fuck, you just romanticize everything is all.

You drip with fake emotions,
I mean who cares about the real ones.

Nobody asked you to be here,
Dragged you by your hair,
Pulled you by the wrist,
Kicking and screaming.

You assume they need you,
But you bet they'd leave in a second.

You're being left behind,
Sleeping in the past.

You're sad?
Mad?
Glad?
Nothing?
You're nothing?
That sounds fitting to me.