Pretty Ruined

Yeah… Look at me.

Don't fucking look away.

You know what I want.

(hahaha) Say it, bitch.

I wanna crawl inside your head,

turn that pretty heaven red.

Be the devil in your bed,

make you crave the things you dread.

That needy look gets me so high,

lip trembling when you start to cry.

One little tear rolled from your eye— fuck,

now I need another five.

You tell me, “Baby,

you’re insane.” Then moan my fucking name again.

You know damn well I’m bad for you,

but being good don’t feel the same.

Cry for me, bitch,

cry for me, make that pretty face a tragedy.

Tell me that you fucking hate me while your body keeps betraying

everything.

Baby, I wanna see you cry,

tears running from those pretty eyes.

Begging me, “Please, please,

please…” while I smile

like something evil underneath.

Who owns that pretty little heart?

“You.”

Who keeps tearing it apart?

“You.” Whose bitch are you?

“Yours.” Mine what? “Your fucking bitch.” (hahaha)

There she is. Run from me,

I’ll follow slow, I already know where you wanna go.

Catch you talking to another motherfucker,

now I’m standing there like,

“Oh, so you don’t know?” Baby,

introduce us.

Tell him why your face went pale.

Tell him whose name still tastes like sin,

whose memory follows like a trail.

Let him hold you.

Let him try.

Let him wonder why you’re mine.

You can kiss him just to hurt me,

but you’ll see my fucking face

every time you close your eyes.

Look at me.

You like being called my bitch?

... What?

Can’t hear you.

“Yes.” Yeah?

Then fucking say it.

“I’m your bitch.” Good.

Now tell me you hate me.

“I hate you.”

Again. “I fucking hate you.” (hahaha)

God, you’re pretty when you lie.

Cry, bitch, cry for me,

turn those tears into pornography without a camera,

without a screen— just you looking fucking ruined over me.

Call me sick. Call me obsessed.

Tell your friends I’m fucking possessed.

Then three A.M., you’re at my door wearing that look that says

you came back for more.

Who are you thinking of?

“You.” Who can’t you fucking leave?

“You.” Who do you belong to?

“You.” Say it properly.

“I’m fucking yours.” Yeah… That’s all I needed.

Run again tomorrow.

I’ll enjoy watching you try.