Me VS. You. Don't Worry, I Lose.
She’s rhythmic
Sashaying through it all
Her plight is the cacophony
Tormenting my brittle head
Because my plight is the man
Who seeks her in his dreams
And my pseudo lover
is what his dreams are made of
But she’s got the tits
She’s got the lips
Bee stung to match the scars
Leftover on my wrists
By teenage angst
And drunken disorder
Ordering me around
His plight is mine
Since my own seems over with
His plight is hers
She just doesn’t know it
And all he says is a shotgun
Could fix it all right up
And I find myself hard of hearing
For lack of a reason to disagree
