Copyrights and Trademarks

She's holds it in within her skin the sin of a man who didn't give a damn

but always lended a hand 

to her
Sending mixed signals to a naive individual 

slowly converting her into a doll. 

A doll that pretended to be perfection 

yet let herself be played with 

but that by the brown hair on her head 

swore she was playing the game right back

but wasn't 

she had no idea of it 

she was fooling herself. 

And as she speaks her tales of misery, 

she speaks them hesitantly 

for the reader might identify with her story

with that man 

and her words might be adopted, stolen ,copied

and she's left with a photocopy 

of what she wrote in her hand. 

The tales she speaks have no time or place, 

they are things her mind has tried to erase and replace 

and they still stand right in front of her face

but she looks past. 

She looks past the glass and smoke and stories

past the people who stood before thee

and swore on her life that her heart which fell apart 

she would start

to defend 

to the bitterest end. 

But her words are the publics

because she knows she's worthy of the Pulitz

-er prize and I despise

those deceitful eyes

that try to take what's mine, 

but take it 

because you can never have the mind 

to refine 

this doll's realities.