I’m planning my own happiness just for you to ruin it
I’ve lived a thousand lives not one of them with you in it
Each one I’m born a serpent but I can’t find my own tail
I eat myself head first I’m existing just to fail
I do just fine mistaking my own life
for something that it’s not
I don’t need you here reminding me of my worth like I forgot
I know my place I hold my shape I’m a soul thats then left wanting
What’s the difference between what you are to me and haunting?
I don’t see difference between what you do to me and haunting.
Darwin wrote a million words just for me to be born wrong
A sock seam twisted weird or a boiling pot left on
Seems odd to be born on the brink — at the edge of what we’re not
You say that I’m a new me but like my old self I forgot
Does that seem like a lot? Do I seem like a lot?
I think I was born beginning to rot