If these texts had a scent
It would be liquor
If anyone knew how broken I felt
They'd say to fix her

Liquid courage served in a red cup
Just to work up the nerve to text you and ask what's up

In the hopes of reminding you I exist
Combined with the sick hopeless idea that it's me you may miss

Little miss independent don't need no man is distraught that she doesn't fit in your ****** up game plan

Here I sat writing your last name after my first
I am manipulated by your game, you have me under your cruel curse

So I'll shoot you a lovesick text
Even though you just wanted ***
While you're onto casting a spell on the next
And I'm still under your vex