Is some years someone will say
That Lily, she sure was a riot.
There's something to be said
About the vague mocking
I cast upon myself.
If it wasn't for my misfortune
I would not have had
Such dark sense of humor.
I'd rather put myself on the spot
Than give you the pleasure.

If there was a statue
For all the broken women
Would she smile?
I'm sure she would.
I guess I would, if it was me.

There's gratitude in the peace
That resides in my so called
Lonely home.
I'd rather kick back
On my own
Put my feet on the table
Than spend another minute
With a man
Who needs a trophy wife.
For I'm certainly no trophy.

So unpredictable
I can't tell what I'll do next.
My lips tear apart in speech
At the first sight
Of flawed logic
If not of you, then of me.
I'd smile, laugh and mock myself.

But the wounds are on the mend.
In the midst of the process
I'd only wonder
"Is it a witch burning or a burning witch?",
Is there love to be found
To cast upon my abusers
And how much suffering can I take
Before my mind collapses on itself
And I'm introduced to the padded room.

At fear of losing my mind,
I can only work harder
To regain my mental states
And hope that someday
I'll be free of the streams
That pull me away
For thinking straight.
I spill my guts
Sit through the cold sweat
And grind my teeth
Knowing, that someday I'll understand.