Ladies And Germs, I Give You, The Black Dahlia Doll

You've left my soul in mere shreds, as
if Freddy Krueger went on a rampage,
tearing muslin PJs and innocent flesh.
Like the Black Dahlia, I've been left
ripped open and thrown to the wolves.
Left to rot in a sweet-trash gutter. Like
always. Deja vu, as they say. Again and
again, you use me and abuse me yet,
some how, I enjoy it. Cuts like a sugar
sweet knife when you leave. But that
pain, oh that pain. When I think you
love me but there is no love for you.
You hurt me again and again because
you claim you love me. Well honey, it's
a damn shame because I don't love you
back.

Find another porcelain doll to shatter
and dismay. I wanna find some glue
and the rest of my pieces so I can
at least look presentable for the next
beast who will indubitably do the same.
I want to paint over all those little cracks
you made in my exterior. You had no
right to knock about my delicate glass
eyes, my peach-painted skin, my fragile
crimson lips. Crimson from lipstick? Or
crimson from blood? I can hardly tell
anymore with the way you've ripped my
clothes and beaten me around the bushes.