if you want me for the decoration,
an ornament hanging off your arm,
aesthetic and cold,
then take a trip in your flashy car,
to the finest garden centre
and buy a sculpture with breasts of
gold hair flowing down her back,
put her in your garden and
name her after me because, baby,
she'd be cheaper and easy enough
to be bought by your smooth-tongued
compliments and when you broke her,
she wouldn't feel it and her heart of stone
would not be damaged and worn,
an easy fix.