They painted pretty pictures
full of mascara and lace,
reflections of smiles
upon every perfect face.
Underneath the surface
were currents that enticed,
of sex, of drugs, of alcohol,
so bad and yet so nice.

Well here I am with scars
from every finished start,
with lies, deceit, and guilt
and a blackened, crippled heart.
Broken friendships, broken pieces,
broken hopes upon the floor
and a lovely dark addiction
that leaves me wanting more.

I've been so high, I've been so low
and through every in between
and I guess that I just got it wrong
when I pictured seventeen.