i've been alive sixteen years, four months and twenty two seconds
and I still get fooled by a pretty face

words are words
but when she looks at you like that, they become lies hidden in poems
every syllable
stretched   out  with those soft lips
are all ***** lies.
and underneath that skin, darling..
you're still a bag of bones like all the rest of us
trying to fit together like broken puzzle pieces
desperately seeking normality
and you can't change a thing
and no matter how you spin it
under that skin you live in
its a rotting cage

that stinks of ugly.