You told me you liked me because I was Someone New. Verbatim. I’m not sure how I thought that was a compliment, but It gave me time to feel my novelty wear off. Like cheap gold jewelry, Tarnished and green, Disposed of. Sometimes I think you’re determined to be bored of me. Too young, too naive. I wear my mother’s high heels, I curl my hair But I’m only really pretty when you’re high. You’re so scared of dying alone, You’d kill me for some quiet company. But how can I be mad When there’s dirt under my nails From digging my own stupid grave?