In solitude, daily, I picture the death of myself
But nothing too graphic
For I have too low a tolerance for pain
Yes, maybe I'm being too picky
But I would like to be presentable enough for a viewing to be held
Hopefully in a new black dress from Michelle D's, MAC makeover, hair did straight and for once maybe without frizz, resting peacefully with Mariah Carey still being played out until my stereo battery goes dead
Now I know she won't be present
But I wonder who will
-I'm sorry I wasn't there for yours, Daniel Mora,
Fear of my ex's reaction is no legit excuse
After I found out I tried calling but only got your song
I illogically hoped for the impossible to be a lie
Just two weeks earlier we were gonna hang out
But I promise I'll come see you when my schedule permits it-
So I'm trying to picture all the faces
With over 300 contacts in my phone
You'd assume there'd be plenty
Sadly, with so many fakes
I'd have to narrow it down and say this glass is half empty
I hate to sound pessimistic
But I've been hurt by quite a few
The ones I can trust help me hold my head up high
Yet, alone in a crowd, believe it or not, I grow very shy keeping my head hung low and my eyes to the floor
Fed up with hearing my own real-life tabloid
Constantly fighting in my own defense
What compels people to give my life the time of day?
To create lies, spread rumors new and old, but never interviewing their subject face-to-face?
It'd be a lie to call me intimidating
Five-foot-two, weighing in at 119, innocent face, I'm hardly a terrifying case
Maybe that's what makes verbal torture that much easier
Haters claim their victories not in black eyes, but in their victims blue tears they can create
As far back as I can remember my mother told me not to cry because it made me look ugly
I suppose that's the reason as to why I started applying my mask so early.
It seems the lifelong battle of an Olson to carry with them pounds of dead weight
Trying to let go of our pasts but freedom only comes in fantasy
So back to my viewing,
Hopefully my burdens will have already gone away
So that in death, all I'll hear is every Mariah song play
Then I won't have to focus on who actually came
Honestly, I much rather not discover who was real, and who was fake.
