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Description
I spend all my time wishing - throwing pennies, watching clocks,
blowing out candles. I spend all my time wishing I was someone
that you respect, maybe even love (because you feel neither
for me now).

And, if I have to smash a few mirrors so I can't see my
reflection, so be it.
If I have to go undercover and sleep with the secret agent,
that's fine.

I'm not the type to sit down and listen when a bad song
plays on my radio. And, if you're the song, I'm the radio,
and it's very tiring that you keep playing on me.

If my words don't work, because they never rhyme quite
right, then I offer you another's, with music behind them, and I
scrawl Smashing Pumpkins lyrics on the wall like nostalgia
will change something.

This is like living all of high school all over again, and I lay out on
my back, lips parted to gasp and sigh and try desperately to
breathe, and they're all carving their sweet stinging opinions of me into
the doors of bathroom stalls as I get fucked over and over inside
them, screaming my frustration and lack of control, my head slamming
into the wall.

When the coast is clear, you'll clear out, and where will I be? I'm
so easy, and life lives in rhymes but I'm sorry, I forgot my dictionary
at home.

As much as I'd love for this to be a big "Fuck you," I know it's not.
I know next time you close the door behind you and look at me that
way I think is sweet but poisonous, the walls will crumble
to let them all build up the graffiti of my promiscuity for everyone
to understand again.

When I turn my back to these mirrors and face the walls, I
am always going to be devastated by the lack of lies. It's
always going to kill me that I'm reflected best in the words
of someone else, of someone who is more honest about me than I am.