pretty.

we've all got pretty bones,
but our exteriors are what suck.
touching one another in animalistic manners,
no manners at all.
we touch them all, and still there's some for later.

we've got such pretty faces,
but our thought processes are what suck.
hanging one another out to dry,
under the bus.
but we need them when we need them, maybe later.

we've all got pretty bones,
but we've got such horrid personalities.
no regard for any soul, save ours, of course.
we simply don't care.
but we expect others to care; we shove it in their faces.

we've got such pretty faces,
but we're all such horrid people.

linger.

you look good in the spring, and you're such the perfect husband.
holding her hand and kissing her lovely cheek in the breeze.
but you're having trouble, you see, or maybe you don't.
button up your coat, dear, there's a slight chill.

you look good in the reflection of that glass of wine.
pretty for an old man, pretty for a young man; you never looked your age.
smiling with soft red lips, telling of all your battle scars.
none quite as impressed as i was, two springs ago.

you look so good on her arm, such an odd little man.
but you're beautiful, you're cocky, you're absolutely grand.
you can let this one go, you can stop trying, you won long ago.
you kept your prize, on a shelf with all the others, not quite as shiny.

you look so good as you fade away, little by little.
but you never really were the type to stay.
just the type to mold, to fix, to stretch things as you want them.
you lingered just long enough to break my heart.

and i said i'd never tell you that.
just go on, walk away.
i won't be okay if you do.
but i said i'd never tell you that.