Disclaimer: I do not own the Clique
You're sitting in your room alone again.
The girl you adore isn't there.
Wasn't there.
She's out with another.
One taller,
More popular,
Older.
And why?
He doesn't love her like you do.
He accepts invites to hot tub parties,
From ones bustier,
Tanner,
Prettier,
And tickets
From ones paler,
Taller,
Fatter.
Yet she fawns over him,
Gave up the one with the leather jacket,
For him.
She would never give you a second glance.
To her you are a nobody,
Below her.
Even your blood is too impure for her,
You see the blonde one crying at night.
You long for one more glance,
One more caustic remark,
One more sound of her clacking shoes.
Why?
Is it her face?
Fair and delicate,
But hard as stone?
Her hair?
Shining with brilliance
But the shield to a poisoned mind?
You can only look down at your shoes,
Ashamed.
You can barely look at yourself in the mirror.
Why?
You are in love with the devil.