I can't be the only one
held responsible
when I drown
in your ocean eyes.

how sad it is,
we no longer touch ourselves
with thoughts of ***
in our head.
love has become so taboo,
we now fantasize about that
instead.

She's grown tired of only experiencing weekend love-

The kind of love that doesn't make it past Sunday afternoon,
the kind of love that stays within the four walls of her bedroom.

A bourbon-infused romance,
an ill-intentioned ******.

Naiveness does not plague me.*

You are nothing more
than one too many drinks,

nothing more
than sweat-stained sheets.

I woke to the smell of rain
rolling in through my bedroom window.

It smelled like you
and past nights of regret.