by the turn of the clock
i have not done as i said
my head and i have frailed
lonely and failed becomes

nothing i write or contribute will ever mean anything to anybody
to you this is ink on a screen
i am shapeless and nameless
eighteen years soon and i will die alone
you can't love a manipulator

and here's what you missed on the pathetic melancholy of me,
she hasn't looked me in the eye since friday
and im swallowing my spite
every impulse is screaming at me to lash out
take him
hurt her
a warpath of destruction that knows no bounds
but that story has been played
six or seven times now
i can't afford to slip again

im doing it again
but i want you back
doesn't that count for something?
this isn't personal gain
but i don't want to hurt you
I'm a time bomb as it is

I've was hung up on you when i was fourteen
you used to show up in cat ears
and band tee's and that stupid short hair
countless nights i dreamt of you
and that carried on until about 2 months ago
when i fell asleep and dreamt of someone new
a boy with strange eyes and a crooked smile
I've moved on and yet i feel im cheating

im constantly chasing my life
clinging to the jagged rocks
so tantalisingly close
then the crimson threads under my nails
envelops me in a blanket of scarlet
suffocating me sofly
till i remind myself to breathe and i pull away
and i call out to my life
deliberately ignoring the ruby spots
thread together the tattered parts
soothe it with honey and lemon
until the crimson threads under my nails
until the crimson threads under my nails
until the crimson threads

i hate lana del ray for reasons beyond her control
I've never met the woman
i don't care about her personal life
nor how she spends her time
and i only listen to her when the radio dictates
but she makes my love think of me
and for that i hate her