She throws tantrums on the sidewalk
And screams at the broken walls.
Her bottles are almost empty
And her knuckles cracked from the last phone call.
She's run out of midnight lipstick
And her fishnet stockings are torn,
She could leave it all behind her if her Nikes weren't so worn.
Her pink nail polish just won't stop chipping, and the clock...
It just won't stop ticking.
The walls are painted with ice cream toppings,
But she can't see,
They won't stop talking.
The boys, they come and leave their tips,
But they forget their voices and bruise her hips.
Her rug is faded and her sheets are torn,
Nobody stays because they can't stand to watch her mourn.
The cupboard is empty and the air smells sweet,
But she can't go anywhere with shackles on her feet.
Tied to the bedpost and locked under the stairs,
She sits there in silence,
With balsamic vinegar in her hair.
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