It's all fun and games,
With lips veiled in *****,
With a cranberry punch,
That gets me bleeding,
Trickling bright on my teeth,
Til you reach for my skin,
And you taste like the kind of metal,
I used to cut with,
Pressing into me,
Until someone notices it's wrong,
And not so pleasant,
And I leave you with a hollowed-out skeleton,
Of myself,
While I drive race cars and fingernails,
Over my skin,
And you hold on,
For fifteen minutes of silence