keep dancing; the pain stops with every spin

but it's not a habit, she mumbles, I'm not an addict

(while she basks in the somnolence under her skin)

slightly subtle: more submissive than she'd like to admit


what scares them that they shake while she's so still?

all of her blood turns blue like royalty in distress

uncertainly they whisper, calmly wait until

her crown of thorns screams saint and nothing less


she sings a pretty song and she sobs with every lyric

quietly indecisive on an unforgiving bathroom floor

dear diary, some days martyrdom makes me sick -

i understand the sadness, sweetheart, but what are you crying for?