I have a jar, it says Clandestine 
on the midnight glass.
Inside is a knotted mass
of secrets, growing, growing fast:

The arm rest of my driver's seat
serves also as a vault.
The hollow lodge is locked tight
to hide each poison, minty light.

And the reason for my negligence
and polluting my fragile lungs,
is related to my sick obsession
with appetite suppression.

My trembling reflection
when I look into the mirror,
calls me names that I can't take
and so I shed one more disconsolate lake.

Nobody would guess, 
this girl has done some heavy lines.
And the rocks that rolled me in the past
probably won't remain the last.

Driving just to get away,
I overplay the same old songs, 
that remind me of a thousand goodbyes.
I need to be alone to cry.

But I can close my blemished, tainted jar
with all it's lies and all it's scars,
and hide it where it's contents won't stray
...but that won't make them go away.