Dear Princess.
Your songs about me are in vain
Your silly little follies about your pain.
You say that I once loved you
Now, that isn't necessarily true.
All this worrying is puerile
Please, listen to my side for a while.
I'm not as preeminent as you say
I hate myself every.waking.day.
'What's wrong with you?' they inquire, hatefully
'You', I always scream (however, not labially.)
My protests of hate are lackadaisical
My actions toward you apothegmatical
Long ago, I requested space
And now I can't turn without seeing your face.
A fogged-up mirror flaunts my face
Full of shame; a face few will embrace.
And yet, they do, but I've expressed that
You need not be one of them, lest we combat.
The more you attempt to draw me in
The farther I grow apart, to your chagrin.
Your rash attempts at love
Are too vexatious and ridiculous to hold you above.
Quite frankly, no one cares about your score
It's all just an excessive bore.
Please, just let me go.
Please, just let me go home.






