"End of the day
Falling into that bed again
Sorrow carved into my ceiling like a
I can't contain
Guess my secret's out
(Obsession is one of my finer points)
Crossed fingers, clasped hands
Is nothing sacred anymore?
Jealousy is scribbled across my notebook
But blue looks good on you---
---just a part of growing up;
(That's why my skin crawls, dear friend).
Vicious violence of a young girl's mind
Sounds something like 'teen suicide',
But I could be wrong.
Envious people never seem to die fast enough (for my taste)."