COMING UP ROSES EVERYTHINGS coming up roses and it always snows on june the ceiling is WRITHING and screaming but there is nothing wrong with me smile if it hurts, tears me apart crushes my heart, smile if it purges me clean of you there is no "us" to speak of, there never was AND it strips me of my dashing manners would you like me more if my lips were cold? HOPE is a whore breeding monsters in the undergrowth of my sleep feeding me lies to hold on to and there IS nothing wrong with me always OUTNUMBERED in the gentle grind of ever passing years