Departure from Reality (a Poem for Day Four of PAD)

Each day of the challenge so far I've vowed to post my poem early, and each day I've posted it close to midnight. At least I'm getting them written, right? My poem for day four is below the photo (which I took today on a 5.2 mile hike). 

I'm not exactly thrilled with this piece. It's needs some revision, but to keep up with the challenge, I'm posting it anyway. 

"For today’s prompt, write a departure poem. Many people depart to school and/or work every day, and they depart on a plane, train, or automobile–some even walk or ride a bike. Of course, that’s keeping things rather physical; there are also emotional and psychological departures. You may even decide to make a departure from your normal writing style in tone or structure today."

Departure from Routine

Departure from Reality

You think you don’t exist.
You think you died in their minds.
And you’re mad about the bubbles
that left you flat. You’ve been living
like cheap soda when you long
to be champagne. You tell yourself
to fizz up and over out of reach,
but those are just lies you tell yourself.
Lies that cracked you when you realized
you don’t live inside a display
cabinet anymore. Mother’s china
took your place, but you weren’t ready
to move out. Now you lock yourself
in your bedroom at night, letting
that departure eat away at your life
and tell you that being is a burden.
Run yourself through the wash cycle;
clean away the scum and water spots
marring your beauty from the hands
that used to hold you. Stop telling
those lies to yourself. Stop telling
those lies and come back from
your departure.

*****