I didn’t grow up with porcelain faces
But instead painted plastic
I always wondered what it’d be like
To care for something so beautiful
Would I be different if I had?
Or would you break like everything else I touch
I am like Midas, change on my fingertips
But my fingers do not create gold
I create destruction and despair
Nothing good comes from these fingers
So maybe its good I didn’t grow up with porcelain faces
But with, instead, painted plastic.