Pull your children in
And begin
I'm in distress
Tired of this dress
Dig my heels in
To the ground
I'm so fucking
Profound
Fatten me up
Fatten them up
Fatten me up
Fatten them up
The Starving time
Serving size
fortify all those lines.
The idea has always been there, somewhere, deeply rooted in the mealymouthed Midwest, ripe for the pulling of hair and teeth. Frankness has lost her rightful stance and her reputation has been tarnished, filtered, and forgotten by most. We pine to touch her like royalty and we revive her through the passive power of longing. We polish her. Remembering that desperation will always take you somewhere and when the time is right it is irrefutable, you can not muffle the future. Though the bite has been barred, he may bark commands through the muzzle, their filter, their fortune. Recognize the warning signs and prepare. Mock-glamour has claimed and cultivated the strangest of relationships with each and everyone of our minds. We sing into boxes for control and name names, wishing it all meant something. We wrap ourselves up(tight) and only pray for rapture instead of creating it.
I'll be a failure...I'll be your failure. Post-op and prenatal, I'll always feel ugly.
I want to destroy the world. I want to become someone else. I've been dying for a taste, my fucking cut of your huge sky. I'll never be content, I'll never be well-adjusted, I'll never be put together. I'll always be here, in this teen-heat. I'll never outgrow you, I'll never ever outgrow you, like a bed or like a god. I want to mean everything, to someone who doesn't know my fucking name, sold myself off again, I can't spare myself the pain. I'm so pissed, i'm pale. Melt me down to messiah statues, individually divide my parts, make me selfless and not breaking nails trying to climb fences to fame. I am your self-victim. I'll make myself into the monster, I'll make myself into the monster, I'll make the monster. I'll kill my ideals, I'll kill my fucking idols.
"professionally, morally, and socially disgusting."- The Harrison Avenue Theater
We beat ourselves
Pit stained
Against pulpits
Pointing straight
And kid ourselves,
They dont have a clue
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