There’s a knife in my hand
And I’m standing stiff in the dressing room like a cat in a rainstorm
Because the lace in the dress smells like my open casket and my mom made me wear it anyway

And I don’t know what I’m waiting for or
Why this room seems so small
But the lights are buzzing
(Or maybe it’s just my head)

And my skin feels like the sound of course papers sliding over each other or the squeak of my breaks in the middle of the intersection
And I know I can try to scream but there’s cotton in my mouth and
I don’t know why I want to anyway

So instead I’ll take this blade and
Carve other people’s names into the glass of the mirror
Because it’s nice to leave scars that don’t belong to me

There’s a knife in my hand
And I’m caught in the gyre that I swear is going to drown me but
When I look around everyone's above water