Emily Michele


Trash


Walk around, swing your hips.
Get those boys wrapped around your finger tips.
Walk around, start to speak.
Betray whomever you think is weak.
Walk around, just let him go.
Getting over your pain is remarkably slow.
Walk around, just stay still.
She doesn’t love him as much as I will.
Please sit down, begin to crash.
One bad boy made you, conceited girl, trash.

Submitted: Friday, May 07, 2010
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