All of this over breakfast?

I somehow discovered that everything I thought I had was just pretenses.
I have my mom who I can count on entirely too much.
That one I know for sure.
And as I break down, writing this at 1:20 am, I am alone.
My nephews are asleep, scattered sporadically around the living room; my roommates are laughing in their room...
Yet somehow, I feel like this apartment is a ghost town.
This place is a ghost town, and damn it if I'm not the one haunting this room.

I want to remove myself from this and every situation involving me.
I'll adopt a pseudonym and live like a Gypsy; I won't need anything.
I know who I sound like right now, and I'm okay with that.
And I sound like an attention-starved, punk-bitch.
I'm okay with that.
When everything is good, I won't be excited anymore.
I know what follows it.
White flag.


All of this over breakfast plans?
I'll write for me.
"TIME TO PRETEND."
3... 2...