She's beautiful, does she know it?
She feels insecure.
Her past's foundation is unstable,

Loosed screws by the screwdriver who was once her anchor.
The man who was supposedly thankful for having her in his life,
Is now a distorted image in the back of her mind,
Still eating her insides.

Living parasites, thoughts of
"I really wish he would (wood) turn" might, (termite)
Not be what's she's truly after.

The sensation of instability is really what's killing her faster
The doubt creeping, one foot in the deep end,
Feels like time is moving faster

As she sinks deeper into the quick sand-mans plaster.
Oh! how she longs to start a new chapter in her life,
Not realizing the pen was in her hand the entire time...

Ma'am, what is it that you are truly after?