You should have seen

Taught to shade a less tone of imperfect,I could never be myself.
Diet pills in a protective barrier all stocked up on the shelf.
Hinges screeching,a sound so abnormal.
Silenced by the possibility of loneliness,this can not be normal.
My concerns and insecurities only a dark secret away,locked up,subliminal.

More worried about how much I'm not consuming instead of thinking of the mouths I could be feeding.
Stomach plastered to my rib cage,only bones visible,is she really eating?

Dresses shorter than my life expectancy.
Thinking that relating to a stranger's story will bring me out of my misery.
It sells if it's relatable.
Feed them false hope to make them think it's understandable.
Put a few feminine terms and suddenly they'll think you're invincible.

Follow her home to dead-beat partner who monitors her every move.
Blood shot tears in her eyes,he thinks he's still got his groove.
Beat you to the pulse and you insists he still loves you.
Coming home at any given hour smelling like another woman,barely able to recall his whereabouts,still manages to convince you that he's loyal to you.

When scars of unnecessary abuse make your face look like you're fresh from plastic surgery.
What lies before you in the mirror,now an eternal memory.
Each bruise sculpted perfectly as though it were a work of art.
Play dumb bitch,you won't be "happy" if you're smart.
Showing appreciation for every last beating,till death do us part.
Too far gone is the man who once had a good heart.

Make money off them and not care enough to ask what goes on behind those closed doors.
When music becomes a form of escape,it evident in sold out tours.
Funeral parlours working over time because of the music you make.
Accidentally slipping in a line about shooting up an entire neighborhood,fans acting out songs as though they were depicting a movie scene.
Awards come in numbers,what an artist you've been.
A blood soaked ticket now lays in a pool of blood,the impact of your music,you should have seen.