pulled half baked confessions too hot from this mouth, you told me it's okay that we're going to be okay and i don't believe you. i found a trader hidden underneath this skin and we're just shoving our hands over the other's eyes and going in blind.
my momma told me it's okay that her daughter's going to be okay as she calls the number for therapy. it didn't work for my brother last may, but why not try it on a less important victim this time? i'll have to shower the insanity from my body before i go in, so they realize i don't need the cruel depicting and reshaping i know they're craving.
left the car running as i fell from the car into the unforgiving snow, my sister screaming at me, it's okay that she's going to be okay. pregnancy can happen to anybody, what's the problem if she's only sixteen? now every friday we spend the night in the living room where her boyfriend's a constant no-show and convince the family to paint memories on her showing belly.
there are blooming weeds sitting at the cafeteria table next to me and my friends are giggling it's okay that they're going to be okay because at least they'll have cousins to be their prom dates, since the school prefers physiques over minds every day. my blood's boiling and when standing up for them means "you're a part of the loser table go to sit them"s, then i've lost hearing completely.
clawing face cards, black-hearted jokers, from the backs of my eyelids while whispering, it's okay that i'm going to be okay. self-images are reflections where the mirror cries your lies in front of you at one am; saying differently, saying truths - like how you're going down a dark road you've never known will - will never be allowed at the world's atm. no, you're refunded when you try to tell me; the return receipt is stamped with the label of insanity; at least they'll hand you loneliness free of charge on top of everything.