Flip Flops
She drinks orange juice from the carton.
It tastes better that way.
And speaks paragraphs and novels.
But still has so much to say.
But apparently,
She's always fustrated with her state of being,
Play shoots and Ladders with her life.
Moves her pieces when no one's seeing
A record of mistakes filled with scratches,
The same frames just repeating, repeating.
Don't walk a mile in these flip flops.
They'll lead you to the wrong direction.
You will hold it in,
And bleed it out.
Use a band aid for protection.
And every eye will be on you.
But it's not enough.
No, it's never enough.
She doesn't sleep.
Too busy reading Hemmingway.
And writing poetry to match.
Then will stay in bed for days.
But apparently
She likes to get comatose to never feel the pain.
She's rocker chic.
Wearing things black, ripped and inside out.
But apparently her money ran out.
Her life a mangled trainwreck.
She is so mysterious
But apparently used to be an open book.
Until the rape.
Now you're lucky if you get a look at her index.
Don't walk a mile in these flip flops.
They'll lead you to the wrong direction.
You will hold it in,
And bleed it out.
Use a band aid for protection.
And every eye will be on you.
But it's not enough.
No, it's never enough.
Anybody got a compass?
For this damsel in distress.
Can someone remove these flip flops?
So she can run free in the grass.
I used to want to be her,
But now I just want to kick her in the ass.
Don't walk a mile in these flip flops.
They'll lead you to the wrong direction.
You will hold it in,
And bleed it out.
Use a band aid for protection.
And every eye will be on you.
But it's not enough.
No, it's never enough.