Yeah, I know I have no claim
Upon you or on your time
And the seconds walk by, lame,
And I pen another rhyme
About how painful it remains
To be the what-the-hell-ever.
It wasn't that I didn't wake
With my good friend by my side
It wasn't that I didn't make
The pancakes, or I tried
To refocus on my gains
Or whatever the hell ever
To remember to fail
To recall you exist
To laugh, not to pale,
At the wish to be kissed
And how stupid are the pains
Of being the what-the-hell-ever.

So, what's your downfall, he asked?
And I tell him, I'm not tasked
With losing my hopes in a flask,
Or tangled sheets, or to bask
In false lights of powders foreign,
Though it would seem my creed, I know,
By much my brethren showed and show;
I am an artist, I plead guilty to the crime,
Of being here to ask you to waste your time
To try to understand my ramblings on my pain
And then to waste and waste your time again
Hoping you can see something more
Of everything that comes before
Your eyes when you're not wasting time
Upon this crazy pantomime
I place before you: I bleed, yes,
And hope to give you life in all this mess.

You reached for the stars
and put them in my eyes

I keep them locked
behind my eyelids


fearful

that you´ll change
your mind

I was never good at avoiding pain
It is what comes from placing faith
And why I do something so vain
When I can't know that there is ground beneath
I can't tell you, but I can recount
How my days are nothing until
I hear from you, and then I count
Another age until you will
Show me something I think is love.
I don't know what makes me depend
On knowing this; perhaps I could dream of
Stopping and do it, too, but rend
My heart in three rather than that I
Should let your claim upon me die.

Gaze at me, with you ever-so-slight smudged lipstick
Pop-punk lyrics issuing from your perfect mouth
Dark circles from the khôl and folly
Forgiveness from your youth
Torsion of perfection into a wry smile
Sober, you say, drunk, who'll walk upon my style?
Who'll dare? I dare, in laying bare, ballet hands,
The contents of my *****; You know, friends,
I may be an actress, and pretentious,
But my ability to lie's contentious.

The anger's in my cheeks
The words aren't in my mouth
I know like I have for weeks
Everything's only going south
If I stay to hear you say
Another word of your fanatic way
You cannot be wrong, sir
Your stance is on fleek
Your shoulders are strong, sir
But your logic is weak
And I know the ins and the outs and the world
And I'm sitting and spitting with my fists curled
Oh yes, oh yes, you have got the answer
But haven't you heard, you're not the new cancer?
I'm mincing my tongue, you're not mincing yours
And I know that my knowledge is worth just two straws
Wise men ask the fool
And they all sit and drool
But I burn in my anger
At how you don't know hunger.

A quiet getaway for two, a co(a)st,
Yeah, but how about, we skip the other?
And, if you "love", why don't I let you roast
With the other marshmallows, and wither
In your blissful lack, blind lust, busy life
Of red velvet and dollars? In my chair,
All the "love" I need to know is the strife
Of strings and sticks and synth and sliding air;
Give me Skull Candy, and my own fiddle,
Give me my view across the painted sky,
Give me my freedom to be a riddle,
Give me the chance to dance and still defy.
I'm not your pretty girl, nor femme fatale,
And if you fall, know you will really fall.