She's a cliché

All she ever did was run away

From that verboten word

From cliques and things overused

Afraid her sameness would be abused

Abused like alcohol or vulnerable beauty

Her mediocrity made her

Numb as a rag doll

Slamming off the bedroom wall

But when she runs barefoot in the moonlight,

That's her favorite cliché,

Her favorite sin,

Licking blood off the safety pin,

Sad movies and nostalgia is more than she can take

Favorite books like lovers line the shelves, and her

Scars are like children,

Only aesthetically pleasingly

When she's alone.

When she's alone

How she loves to be alone.

Don't answer the phone, baby doll…

Screen your calls, baby girl,

And get lost in the hollow sound of the rain

She feels guilty for harboring pain

But it's her favorite sin,

Licking blood off the safety pin.