sometimes my scars hurt

i can feel the tearing pain through my sleeves so i pull them up

nothing to hide, tear them off, tear them open, wipe them up

with the ruffled edges of a new dress - what a mess, what a shame

set afire something else that was nearly new - more reminders of how it's always old

now more soot on my boots and on my face

I can't keep my hands clean - I can't stop touching my fucking face

i scrub and scrub but it won't wipe off - i can't come clean

with nothing to hide, forehead black, sleeveless and bleeding out - what a mess, what a shame

And I could have been beautiful had my choices been made with more "wise" and less "heart"

unconditional with so many conditions - that's where we are, that's what we do

And I could have been clean if I had only walked away - but I have always been a mud pie child

I have always been a bloody mess

and he cries so soft - please don't marry him, please don't marry him, please don't marry him

please don't marry him, please don't marry him, please don't... marry him...