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I live inside a box inside my head
It's marked fragile, but no one pays it any mind
Be kind to yourself before you self-combust

Fishing off the pier with my imaginary dog Rufus Wainwright
Finishing school only made her an even more entitled, pampered bitch
Now she's in the White House pretending she earns what she gets

There's an electric fence around my most private of thoughts
I don't have to hire bodyguards because no one has ever wanted anything to do with them
Poetry and pariah go hand in hand if you're doing it right and the stripe down your back is multifaceted

Every single time she went down on me it was begrudgingly and I knew it from the way she wrinkled her nose and closed her Maid of the Mist eyes
There's something to be said for forbidden love if it's by the book and the book isn't barely legal and stinking of teen spirit
I live inside a box marked insubstantial and it has to be that way otherwise nothing works and I'm left holding the bag yet again