She told me she hates to be alone,
That when she’s alone
The silence whispers to her
How she’s broken,
How she can’t be fixed.
I told her not to worry,
Cause we’re all basically used up,
Perfection is a sin.
She never spoke to me again, after that.
My guess is that she
Needed someone to tell her
She was perfect.
Later, I saw her walking with a guy.
She had ribbons in her hair,
And her eyes were sad
The way they were
When she told me about the devil in her.
As for me,
I’ve learned to live with the one in me,
It’s a one hundred year truce.
He gets to wear himself out
Picking apart the core of me,
And in return I get the
Keen insight of a crippled heart.
But I can’t see any other way
To go about these things.
Oh well, she wanted to be perfect,
And that means wearing ribbons in her hair,
And getting around with guys
Who would never dare tell her she was broken.