The Girl Who Lost The World

Can you help me fix the world,
finally cure the sickest girl?
She needs new eyes to see herself
and take her heart from off the shelf.

Perhaps some point before we met
when "play" meant tossing yarn to cats,
she loved the girl that stared right back
in mirrors and lakes, as smooth as glass.

But now and the past several years
Her floor's a mess with empty beers
And plastic bottles, swallowed whole
contain the remnants of her soul.

From pulling hair and pissing off,
to menthol cigs and smokers cough
I feel it on her every breath,
a lonely girl, the slowest death.