Crit for crit, and leave a link, please. Just experimenting with different styles I guess. The ending may seem anti-climatic, but it's intended to be that way, and there is underlying stuff that you may need to think about a bit. OR it could be really plain and I'll have just come across as lame in this paragraph.
oh, i forget to mention, this is a song. So some of the phrasing (ie. broke, and the repetition of 'long') are mostly for lyrical reasons.

The difference between Realism and Pessimism is that Realism is infinitely more depressing.

I awoke this morning to the smell of nicotine and instant coffee.
sunlight shot me a panoramic view of bare hills grazing on sheep
and tonka toys tearing through walls, and I rose to the scream of
air reacting with slow-burning cigarette skin.
That smokescreen formed clouds before my eyes,
and so I had to stop to pick out pieces of broken bottle from
my feet. The bus came and left without me because
my kitchen wall clock is broke,
and since these legs haven’t really walked anywhere
and these arms haven’t really swung to any rhythm in a long,
long, long, long time, it was Oprah at twelve and thoughts of suicide at one.
They’re never anything more than thoughts though,
my mind hasn’t connected with this body in years.
It’s always someone else’s tragedy that moves me –
and at one-fifteen I sprung to the window in tight-lipped (disguised) bliss.

My double vision may have been the product of whatever had left
my carpet splashed with blood, but the cacophonic thunder of
overtly intimate steel scrapped that thought like my faith of wit in puns.
I fumbled with the house keys,
and above the distant scream of sirens the television posed a question:
‘Why do people die? Don’t they want to be alive?’
As I was pulling on my shoes I kicked a bloodied foot towards
the child to shut him up and black him out.
Stumbling toward the front door, I ran out into the street.
I was greeted by post-life contortionists making like rag dolls before me.
Suddenly inspired, I donned shards of decorative chandelier-esque glass,
tore my shirt,
smeared myself with blood,
and took a role alongside pregnant roadkill.

My stretcher wheels got jammed on the way to the ambulance,
and I think I grazed my elbow in the gravel.
The trip to the hospital seemed longer than usual,
and somewhere between the tarmac and the E.R
I realized that in my haste I’d forgotten to change my shirt,
and well, I’d only worn it once,
so I made a mental note to write a song about it when I got back home.
O! music: Click (Youtube)

^ Click to see an acoustic arrangement of Ke$ha's 'Your Love is my Drug' - everyone's favourite song.