"I like your shirt"
And she thanked the girl flippantly
As if she'd heard simple admirations
Far too many times to feel flattered anymore.
Everyone's misanthropic sweetheart.
Burning houses in her honor
Wouldn't hold her attention for longer than a "thanks"
She pulls at the red locks hanging at her cheekbones
And finds a painted flaw
Fishing for more unwelcome compliments.
"I like your shoes. They're cute."
She bats a lash and turns up her nose
And she thanked the girl flippantly.
She might as well flip her hair
And proudly utter "I know"
At least then, her words wouldn't be so empty.