...The sickness looks beautiful on you.
But then, what doesn't?
You, with your flowing black dress.
And you've never tripped,
In those six inch high boots.
(At least, never in public.)
...And let's face it.
When you cry like this,
Three hours of eyeliner go to waste.
But it doesn't matter. It looks too nice,
Running down your pretty face.
It's just like I said it.
Perfection in sickness.
Everything will go your way.
Just apply a little more make-up.
...Oh, but we will wait.
And then, aren't you so lovely?
So perfectly insane.
And, do believe me, I object.
But I'll buy you black hair dye.
(I hate you.)
"...Do you love it, Princess?"