On 19th November you got me flowers,
They reminded me of all the funerals I never got to attend,
So I laid them on their graves, now every day I wake,
Their smell lingers around my portraits.
Stare in the mirror long enough to hate every reflection,
Don't claim to know me better than myself,
You haven't spent hours analysing every inch of my skin,
No one is as devoted to hatred as am I.
Dangling my foot over the roof,
The breeze blows my hair away,
They asked me to welcome life, so here I stand,
One push away.
I see you standing below, waving your hands maniacally,
Even in my death, you wish to be seen, so selfish, of course, I loved you.
Even in my demise, I won't be surprised when you exclaim,
"Oh look it's her, the woman who threw it all away,"
Never say you made her this way,
Call her crazy but she wasn't born insane,
Now I sit in the middle of the night beside your grave,
Karma, they called it.
