She's got a baseball bat
filled with ambition,
and a sharp light to her eyes
full of survival's will.

She's that hard to love
kind of bad ***.
The kind that will muffle sobs
with liquor.

She's the kind of love
forged in the depths of Hell
and *******
rather than
fluffy romance novels.

She knows what its like to be trapped.
So she holds the shackles
above her head.

She didn't realize she broke her arm
and lost pieces of herself
getting out of it.

It was not her fault she was born in chains
But it is her fault that she broke out of them.

For better or worst now,
the cracks in her soul
were filled with attitude.

And God, did I fall for it all.
The careen of her smile,
made me stay for a while.

She's the hard to love kind of bad ***,
and she's on the run again.

From problems to police you name it.

But she will laugh like her flannel soul
hidden in the wind.

And she will drown in her liquored ambitions
once more.