Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

And I don't suppose you know where this train goes.

Is it bad to like the way the scars look on my skin? Oh, the way they feel under my hands. My body's protecting itself, saying, "no, this barrier of scar tissue is to keep you out."
— Taylor Rhodes, Sixteen Notes: The Breaking of the Rose-Colored Glasses.


Oh, what a shame.
Who can we ever blame?
Time will not reverse.
We're stuck in this curse.
Things cannot just change.
What can we rearrange
in order to make this work
without me being a jerk?
 Should I leave this city
or make myself look pretty?
How about I get some sleep first
before I have an outburst?
 Or perhaps I could finally just eat
and stop worrying about being petite.

 Oh, what a shame.
Look at this mess it all became.
Every time I close my eyes,
a part of me inside dies.
 I fight to stay awake,
but it is no piece of cake.
What could I possibly do
to finally have a breakthrough?
Should I slow down my heart
or forget how far we are apart?
How do I clean up this mess
and stop letting myself regress?
Or overthinking everything
like when you would give me a ring.

Oh, what a shame.
Things will never be the same.
I'm just waiting by the phone
getting used to being alone.
I'm wondering if I'm on your mind.
Or have I been so blind
that I'm in deep denial
and leaning towards suicidal.
How do I get out?
Do I distract myself with another workout?
Force myself to forget
with another round of sweat.
Or tire myself out so much
so I won't overthink and such.

 Oh, what a shame.
I've lost my aim,
my faith in humanity,
my dear old sanity.
I can no longer see the end
so how do I transcend.
How do I get out of this
and find my way to bliss?
What can I try
to make time fly by?
How could I pass the time
without spending a dime?
Or get better
without getting fatter.



 There was a party she had to miss.
Because her friend kept cutting her wrists.
Hyperpoliticised sexual trysts.
"Oh, I think my boyfriend's a nihilist"
I said, "hey kids, we're all just the same.
What a shame." 


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