I’ve burrowed myself in my own misery,

Deep in the core of these three days that should mean so much;

All of my plans have gone to waste in a flurry of red and pink.

I’m itching to be tickled with something sharper than your tongue

I want to highlight my eyes with the darkest crayon imaginable

In a perfect picture of gothic prose, I’ll sing this one more time.

On the floor, wearing that dress that I wore

I can’t concentrate on these mathematical things.

Sitting, waiting. Three days, two to go:

I dare you to say something.

I dare you to tell me that you want to celebrate this overrated holiday.

I dare you to argue about the dumbness of it all.

I dare you to tear me down by not respecting my need to be alone.