Prudence and the Mother

Damnit, I'm wilting up inside,
I'm reading you over again and I'm too tired to try.

What pathetic sync I've made of you,
Urging whore's to play this game too.
What kind of jealousy am I passing by?
Trying to hard to stay silent with suprise.

Damnit, I'm wilting up inside...
The fourth time I've read this, and I'm too tired to try.

Again and again, I sound out these words.
And I can't ask a thing, no matter how hard it hurts.
I compromise what I can in my own head,
But even if I add the solution, this thing's still half dead.

Damnit, you're blooming on the outside. 
The eighth time I've read this and I'm torn up inside.

Why am I writing to you, do you think?
Am I begging for mercy? Me?
Is that the best I can do? 
Thinking, kinky, violet, shades of green.

You stupid cunt.
It's not like you get what I mean.

Now I talk to you, yes, you.
You slobber over whore's, poor plastics of what you've seen.
Blow up dolls of sex and things that are guilty at the seems.
Stop pollinating their insides, they won't give you what you need,
But nor will I, I'll only feed.

And then I'll eat you, and you'll eat me,
It must just be sibling rivalry.
That's just how sisters are meant to seem.
Damnit, Emily, you're eating up this dream.