i'm afraid i'll never fit into the framed silhoutte of the false paragons you desire
i'm so fucked in the head can't you see
i'm not her, the epitome of perfection
i bleed words not sweat, i bleed tears not smiles
which often turn into
stifled screams you'll never hear
wouldnt want to be another scathing mad woman from the folklore
the tales of a paradox, the paradigms of the edge of madness
that i almost always slip into.
i felt good about you till my words turned into smoke
and you were just a fragment of my spec, a delusion of home
who'll walk away, leaving a trail across my heart
after you've touched every part of me
that i wont seem to want somebody else
to stain the marks you leave across my skin.
i'm made of glass but do you ever see through
the creases of the sheets of my unmade bed
the red trickling down the mirror, to the overflowing sink
of the bridges i burnt that led me to you, the poisoned waters i was drowning in
i'm made of glass but do you ever care to see through
i'm not fragile, i won't break apart
but when you try to fix the cracks with pieces of yourself
as if you're trying to add me to your trophies on the top shelf
what if i trip over the edge, and the pieces fall apart
would you pick me up, build me back again from the start
or I'd be just another collateral damage and you'll get me replaced
with another glass frame that fits your taste?
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