Paguroidea.

A Million Little lies-no longer on paper, but in a calcareous complexion.

"I stare at her, let my smile fade it won't fade inside. I have never felt so safe or calm. This hard, damaged, drug-Addicted Baddass Girl sitting in front of me with her black hair and her braided pigtails and her clear water blue eyes and her scars her scars the scars on her wrist naked beneath a plastic watch makes me feel safe and calm."

a story absent of quotes and reality-true to its nature. but not you.

you are but a parasite, taking refuge. an outcast. a fat girl. an unloved daughter. you adapted an identity to feed off of to feed off of those around
-it.

it, thats what you are. thats what you've become. sold-out for the safety of others-those that care less about you, but atleast pretend to. they build the walls of your cancerous shell.
you're no deeper than the puddles of blood, that litter the dark alleyways of this mind.
try as you might, those who care to peek, shall see behind the lies, the pages, the lines. behind the surface scars and see what really hurts.
who you are is not wanted. who you are is never you. you exist to live as others, in others you need to see-that maybe someone will love you accept you-no interest in how you're vain.

its almost empty, you know. your tank is running low. which identity will be next? which victim will you perplex-duplexed in how to free the mind of a constant crippling rhyme?

why...lie?
why...lie?
why...lie?

I might have called it selfish, boy, how I was wrong.
you'd have to know IbetterthanThey, to posess some sort of self.

so read what you desire to be, absorb the typed syntax, adapt its DNA-to display in your house of wax.