Between the Lines

Those who look up to me

Are lost and outdated.

Really, I’m falsely marketed

And overrated

(Every single day).

My smiles are confusion

Wrapped in quick remarks,

Upon which rest my many lies.

As hollow as the pupils of my eyes,

I wanna be forgotten and sold

To the anonymous skies.

My love is trademarked

And under license to the highest bidder.

A whore for attention,

I’m falling and getting thinner.

But I’m full of pride, so you

Call me a winner.

I’ll be yours…if you’ll be my sinner.