Untitled

Indecision upon vanity
I don't like what I see
Why does it frustrate me so
It's only an outside that's for show

He's bad news from the start
Dripping blood he calls art
What are we even doing
Only each other but nothing fulfilling

Alone again, here we go
No more talking, we both know
But once outside, amidst the crowd
He'll not touch or show anything about

I agreed for this position
Him calling me what I am
But even lonely passion
Falls away, leaving nothing to stand

I am used, for us to amuse
I'm a whore, to stop being bored