she ripped a hole in her socks every day, maybe just to feel the thorns and let her legs bleed / that kind of lovelyblindingfrightening thing that you want to run your fingers through, tug on her hair just to feel the resistance / you ask her what it means to be a constructed girl and she says βconvict yourself of ****** and youβre halfway thereβ / in the dirt, tearing out flowers like a lonely god in the universe - sheβs bruised, and soft and waiting