A voice without a song?

I feel the seams of my poorly stitched body coming undone.
I guess that's what I get for growing up in a hurry.
Hang your dolls.
Ugly lacquered strings; thin stretched cotton, stretching over premature beginnings.
I'm not ready to face this crowd-
Their frightful eyes and demonic lies stretched between their teeth in the form of a yellow bullet.

I hide my face for sanity.
I cover my ears for insanity.

I'm laying in a bed of weeds; I've never had a nice lawn
Staring at the sky with blood shot eyes.
I hold up my arm to block the sun,
I pull at the skin elastic but firm; this isn't my body.
Rolling over and coming to a bitch's stance I inspect my body..
This isn't me.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
There was supposed to be MORE than THIS.
Hot tears begin to flow from my apathetic eyes..
(Pan out: Nothing but weeds and a sad, little girl crying alone.)

I don't want to die living in a high rise grave.