My fingers used to
always smell of her,
her scent would linger
on my clothes for days

Now that she has left,
my fingers reek of cigarettes,
and my clothes remain unwashed

All I want is for my skin to
absorb her scent once again

But this is not a poem,
and she has changed her perfume

if I knew I was
going to die
tomorrow
would I spend today
writing more
or
saying goodbye to my loved ones?

hardest choice of my life

maybe I'll write my goodbye
in the form of another poem
to make the best of both worlds

The truth was in my eyes
the whole time
all you had to do was look

You can go away,
I will stay
And watch you go away.