She’s all brown and green muddied shoes in dirty waters, spilled wine, and dull lipsticks that smudge. Why do you want her? She’s nasty suffering inside and ignoring all the books she hasn't read, and then there’s that lingering guilt. She’s fucked up and there’s this higher science behind it, this madness that drives her, loving and hating herself all at once. That’s how she’ll treat you, shuddering in the back of a cab on the way home, counting all the traffic lights, and swearing when she misses one. You’re the swear, the cuss. But you’re also the good cop in her narrative, so play it sweet. That smudgy lipstick just may well find itself on your cheeks.