The Playgirl and Her Toy

Casting white magical curses with her starry black eyes
Caged in her heart, all trapped with her poetical smile
Stealing hearts, holding them hostage, calling them 'mine'
Their mutual obsession ever so pained with delight
One mistake at a time, she goes from lover to a heartbreaker
Tossing them like half-burnt cigarettes, hung up on each one of her leftover
And practice makes her perfect, they say she's a serial dater

She's so brainless yet smart enough for a new game
Changing them everyday, always wanting new names
But all of her toys are her favourite, cause they're her artistic ashed remains
Her playgirl picture is now filtered with shades of pain
Trendier like the bold lettered headline on the newspaper front page
They say she's the playgirl and her toy's never gonna stay the same

She plays victim cards as ace in the game of trick cards
He said fate has a way of coming back, and how he'll recapture her heart
Only to break that picture perfect frame into a million shards
And then reminiscing long lost memories afterwards
Forever loving the delusion but never the traumatic start
Calling her a playgirl won't trigger her noose to replay that loveless part
Cause she get bored with old toys, he's just a collage in her playgirl picture art

Begun by a glimpse of stare-bound eyed beginnings
Moralised by mascara stained cheek and never-ending endings
Just because of her divided attention to her toy collection
Her love stained songs, now replaced by vengeance
And she cries about how she didn't enjoy the playtime
Hearing how she should stop writing songs about them, of memories in rewind
Cause she plays them like a guitar, melodious enough to paint them in as elegiac lines