Gasoline

"Are you insane like me?"

Begging hushed voices to leave,

They don't belong in your mind,

A place so dark,

Not even monsters survive.

"Been in pain like me?"

Electricity creates brutal shocks that turn your body into a doll. Seizures attacking the body (trying to remove the crazy; always failing). They laugh as your body spasms on the floor (screaming; they aren't listening). You remember water filling your lungs as you drowned over and over again. As you gasped for air, your own high-pitched, insane laughing echoed for you're used to pain; it's always there (your only friend).

"Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?" Hanging from sheets, crafted into rope; body twisting and tangling (creating beautiful, agonizing shapes that will leave you raw but always smiling deliriously). Dancing like a puppet on strings. Their toy; their plaything (demented clowns aren't human, not anymore). You're their to entertain, no matter to cost for you.

"Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?"

Unconcealed murmurs and gossip about the girl with the bleach blonde hair, revealing clothes, bright makeup and weapon in hand (ready for a fight). Quick glances and long stares (what happened to her?)

"Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me?"

Blue eyes (filled with madness and violence) could be pretty.

Pale white skin (covered in scars, thick paint and dirt) would look nice with a little tan.

A thin, curvy figure most girls dream of (used for gymnastics and combat).

Now your body is a tool, a weapon; not pretty but terrifying.

"I think there's a flaw in my code."

I'm not human. I'm not supposed to feel. So why is there pain in my stone, dead heart. Why is there butterflies when I think of him? Dream of children, love, a true family.

"You can't wake up. This is not a dream." There's no happy ending for a machine, a crazy girl with a crazy mind. Life is a nightmare and you're giggling along as if this horror is a comedy.

"With your face all made up. Living on a screen." This cage is a tv; anyone can watch you fall apart with hysteria. Shock you until your down, body bouncing around the prison. You suppose it looks amusing (why else would they enjoy your pain?)

"Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline." You've learned to live for pain and talk through the short moments without it. Running on their irritation that you refuse to break (you're already broken, why can't they see?"

"Well my heart is gold, and my hands are cold."