it's not alright
but i'll be alright
i've figured your style
you got me riled
am i too much of a cynic
well you're a critic
stuck in this wicked sadistic mix
of emphatic lovers trying to fix
this worldly game
and gloat of what they obtained
it's got my brain enchained
you vain vain vain
clogging my veins
you think you're artistic
you merely mimic
mannequins and statues
i can hit you with harsh words to bash you
yet you won't bruise
still find you infused
in my person
giving this version
a chance to worsen
falling for every gimmick
wasting every minute
trying to trace your mold and i don't fit it
but my value will exceed
every dream you deem
of all varieties you've seen
of what you think you need
but empty
you'll be empty like me
based on minor depictions
on colorless fictions
will bring the self-inflictions
fitting you in with the sick vixens
too dull to admit
that midst the mist
was the perfect grasp for your fist
yet you kissed all of this
farewell
so it's farewell
there's no until
because now i can settle
knowing you're nothing special
