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Does this conscience make me look fat?

She hurts the ones she loves the most,
in her eyes it’s just another form of compliment.
Don’t be surprised when she leaves you out in the rain
and waits for the angel’s tears to rust away your heavy heart
so she doesn’t hear that what it really wants is her.
She’s the queen of cliché,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll never leave
and you don’t believe a word she says,
because she loves to entertain
but she charges by the hour to hide her desire.
She’s a dreamer who dreams she can never die
terrified to admit that she’s living a lie.
Holds the bottle to her head and cries
for all the people she knows she’s killing inside.
With you it’s different.
She smothers her sobs with an admission and whispers
I wish you weren’t the boy I loved all wrong.





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