Bubbline: What's the Point of That?

Bonny, hey, Bonny, you’re breakin’ my heart.

Bonnibel, can you tell? Where should I start?

The pink on your face makes my gray turn red.

I know I can’t take back a word that I’ve said,

And even now, as I float over my bed,

My brain wants to follow where thoughts of you led.

But thoughts aren’t enough, so I’m hurting instead,

Chasing and fighting the wants in my head,

Wishing to take off the “un” from “undead.”

I don’t like to say it, ‘cause I know you won’t.

I don’t want to want you, ‘cause I know you don’t.

But my wants don’t matter to my stupid heart.

Though it doesn’t beat, it’s still breaking apart.

It must have been broken a hundred times now,

A hundred more times than I should allow…

And I do it myself; I put myself near you,

Ignore my own brain, just so I can hear you

Say, “Marceline, don’t you have manners at all?”

“Marceline, come down from there or you’ll fall.”

“Marceline, please don’t draw bats on the wall…”

“Marceline, how could you?” and “I’m appalled.”

And I’ll laugh at your anger; what else can I do?

It’s not like your feelings would change if you knew.

Anger is easy; affection is hard.

But they’re just two sides of the same painful card.

And what good are words when you won’t ever read them?

What good are feelings when I really don’t need them?

Why should I cry if my tears won’t move you?

Why should I want you when I know I’ll just lose you?