my skin
is a story
with marks and lines
it makes me weary
my face
is like a galaxy
with spotty freckle stars
and no sense of gravity
but even with the good
the bad feels so much stronger
my inner demons, they always win
and in my mind, they saunter
so many things i've come to hate
they line my body and caress my face
i feel so frail and empty too
like a china tea cup with dried out glue
i am made of porcelain
i'm cracking now and then
it wears me down
and i am made of porcelain
i look okay, but i am breaking down
over and over again
oh and over and over again
stretches and patches corrupt my flesh
slowly eating away any confidence that's left
and i really wish
i wouldn't let my appearance dictate how much i fret
because they say what's inside is what really matters
but i really can't seem to ignore
the parts of me that i abhor
it makes me feel like i am weak and battered
'cause i am made of porcelain
cracking now and then
it wears me down
and i am made of porcelain
i look okay, but i am breaking down
over and over again
oh and over and over again
ooh... oh, oh..