I always sit here wondering, pondering, thinking it over.
I sometimes lay awake, wishing I could ask you, but not hear the answer.
The truth is, I think of myself as a stranger,
A girl I do not know,
A woman half baked, but mostly burned.
Troubled by her past, and unsure of what comes next.
She wants for everything and, yet, does nothing,
But sits here blankly staring, thinking herself to death.