I think I might just fade
into the background
Attach myself to a wall
and fall right into it

I’ll hear the passers-by
I’ll listen to their conversations

But I’ll never speak,
I’ll never hurt them
And they’ll never be able to hurt me

I love cigarettes
Because they never will run away
To New York
To become artists

Their future is best served
Hanging out the side of my mouth
Killing me slowly

I would rather die faster
And have them there for as long
As I
Live
Than have to be abandoned
Continuously
And callously

Gather round my dears gather round
For this freak of nature that I’ve found
Though it’s growing more and more common
By the day she’s a tiny girl, eats nothing but Raman

Look at her pretty pink cheeks painted on for $50 a jar
That ought to last her a week, by then she’ll need a new car
Because the old one will have gone out of style
She’ll need a new man; this one’ll be out of cash in a while

And you can see her waste away before your very eyes
You’ll expect her to change but would be in for a surprise
She’ll stick her fingers down her throat until she is sore
It has been so long she doesn’t know why she does it anymore

This pretty pink princess, is incapable of lasting very much longer
The men grow bored as she grows old and not much stronger

Tonight my past flashed before my brown eyes
The same ones that could look past the pain and lies
So that once and for all there could be clear perception
Of the skeletons which we kept hidden by deception

What I saw brought no joy, only agony in excess:
My mother, with her hand to her head in distress
Watching with cold eyes as you screamed hate
At your small daughters who were upset and irate

There were three of us, all planned to run away
So one day we may finally have a day
Where we wouldn’t have to endure
The torment of your words, which you were sure

Would make me and my sisters the perfect daughter
My mother was a cold mother, you were a worse father.