I measured what you could do with me,
what I thought you could do,
and I was right,
for most of it was true.
I practiced my math,
made a's and a's and b's,
I calculated your words,
tried sifting through their meaning,
I typed them up,
but my heart was just dreaming.
I practiced my grammar,
to tell you how I felt,
but you had already left.
I do my math now,
but I make c's and c's and f's.

But she was innocent like rain,
and you came with your thunder,
shaking her core.

I know I messed with your heart,
I know my lies tore you apart,
but is it too late to say sorry?
Because I miss more then your lips,
I miss my hands on your hips.
Is it too late now?

But are not the scandalous rumors,
the jealous lovers,
and inglorious *******,
born of passion?

She stuffed up her bra, puckered her lips,
massaging the ache that came from her new hips.
Her stomach had been tucked, her ***** uplifted,
her calves replaced with something unfitted.
Hey eyebrows drawn on, her contacts unblinking,
"This is my new face", she thought without thinking.