Where there were lines, there are now cuts and
Where there was agony, there are fake smiles.
Art is the same as rape,
And morals are a novelty for the weak;
But I find myself watching from the outside,
Bored and clawing at my skull.

You can feed me compliments
After I starve for days,
But I'll still be the same girl in the mirror.
No creativity,
No torture,
No fun.

Dancing in the colored lights I kept to myself
That I hate people,
And I tried not to be agreeable,
But the sounds of a wasted generation
Drowned out my nasal voice
So I settled on choking.

The worst part of bleeding myself is stopping the blood flow,
And the best is knowing I can't feel this pain
Or any pain for that matter.
Sure, I'm empty, but little bits remain—
And I would like them excised.
One day there will be a pretty word for what's wrong with me,
But for now we'll say I'm perfect.