The Back of Your Head

Why is it me to always watch you leave?
The back of your heads are so familiar to me.
Whether it's pleasure or pain I seldom see your face
It's those brown locks of hair that blocks our embrace.
I'm the disposable girl that at best never surpassed second
Her heart made of glass filled with black liquid.. It's been poisoned
It pumps 'round her body when she looses control of it
It's putrid, it's rotten I can't stand the feel of it!
It stops not within her, but everything she touches.
Everything she's cared for or wants feels the sting
Of that putrid black liquid, she just can't touch a thing.
I can see you go running, screaming 'no please don't get me!'
'With that horrid black liquid, you keep it, just for you'
'I'd rather it here in my warm fuzzy goo'

So I watch you all leave...
With the backs of your heads
And I stay right here
In my big, warm, safe bed.