You say all these pretty words—
That make me think I'm enough.
You say I'm what you've always wanted,
And I'm trying my best to believe it.

I don't think you know me,
And all my sad holes,
Or the things that make me cry at night,
And make me feel less whole.

There's a gold gleam on every word,
And i've been hanging on them for too long.
The paint is coming off and there's nothing but plastic,
In this, I see your wrong.

Society is killing me,
Bit by bit.
With pleading eyes and bruised wrists,
I'm watching you stand on my side.
No help is given,
You'd rather watch me as I die.