She draws lipstick like a blade, red smudged like sins she never made
Whispers to herself in the mirror, “Smile, bitch, you’re still paid”
But her eyes are cracked glass, mascara warpaint for the wars she never chose
Nights blur in motel ceilings, ashtray prayers and throbbing ceilings
She fucks to forget, brehes to survive, laughs like something feral’s healing
Every touch is a dare—will this be the one that makes her cave?
Pretty when she’s broken, brutal when she’s sane
Her moans sound like mercy, her silence like rain
You want her? You’ll never know her title
She’s a masterpiece made of scars and shame
She danced on pills for breakfast, skipped the part where she was fine
Screamed into pillows like her soul owed rent on time
And when she came, she clutched the void like it owed her something kind
Her smile’s the kind that says “run,” but her thighs say “stay and bleed”
She needs love like a bullet needs a chamber, like poison needs to feed
She’s not lonely, she’s just full of ghosts that won’t fucking leave
Pretty when she’s broken, perfect in her fall
You want salvation? Crawl.
She’ll fuck your title off the wall.
Ready for 306: straight into a”My List”song—just say the word.