poem // excerpt from an imaginary conversation with mom (spoken word)

mom says,
you should clean your room.
you'll feel better without those flies buzzing around.
i say,
don't you get it, mom?
there's no food in my room, mom
the flies are there for me
all the little things you've said, buzzing by my ears when i try to escape to a casket of sleep
all the nice things you bought me just morsels of meat for beezlebub's babies to spawn in
regrets crawling under my skin
all the times i didn't say hello
like flies unswatted
making maggots in my mushed brain
guilt is just a buzzing i've learned to live with, mom.
mom says, why don't you use the headphones i bought you?
i say,
they don't fucking work, mom
they sound fine, but they're a futile attempt to make me happy
mom says,
i thought you loved music...
yes, i do love music, mom
i'm so tired of people thinking all i need is love
i can't wear them without thinking about how mad i am, mom
i'm not dead but i'm rotten already, mom
mom says,
you're not rotten
i say,
mom,
every night i hope
i hope you won't miss me when i'm gone