I wonder how many golden girls you have lured under your covers.
They probably perceived it as being invited to a royal ball.

I wonder how many whimsical women have been honored to share sheets:
to swap saliva with their majesty. You've danced with all of the town, still every one felt privileged to
have been with you.

How do you expect me to feel like one in a million,
when you've convinced a kingdom of shes'
believe they were your queen?

I wonder
if you wonder
if you are my king.

I've settled in,
made myself cozy in his mediocre linen.
I am kept safe under the weight of his blankets.

I've been staying in this haven for years.

He has a habit of depriving me of experiencing the cruel world for myself.
It may be painful, but it is crucial to development.  
I'm warm in his queen sized bed.
Why would I want to leap out of it?
You are either living, or dying.
Right now, I am dying.
I am suffocating from a lie, actually.

The ocean caresses the sand as if it hadn't seen one grain
in it's lifetime.
That is much how love should be.
Unrelenting,
tiring,
merciless.
No need to stop for anything.
Barriers get busted up,
the way drug addicts destroy an abandoned trailer.

I'll drag your weight all the way to the ocean,
and beg you to mimic it's motion.

I'm trapped in your magnetic field
like a fly stuck in a web.
I should not chastise the spider for trying to survive,
but where else should the blame be set?
We do what it takes to maintain fresh flesh,
but are we willing to suffer the consequences?

Today marks the second day in a row
without your arms wrapped around me snug like a cocoon.
This ride we are on is ending in a head on collision with a semi,
and the both of us will be effected by the whiplash.
I doubt we will survive.

I hunger to picture the shadows your face that were cast upon my bed sheets.
I enjoyed when our shadows danced together, to the beat of our own breaths.
The forest green of your eyes has become less saturated.
I can still remember the way your mouth was shaped as it spewed filthy words
from behind your teeth,
which I always wondered how you kept so white with
the amount of cigarettes you pressed between your lips.

I loved you dearly Dustin.

I am determined to see you again.
I'm unsure whether it's so I can
deafen you with screams,
strike you,
or plant a kiss slightly above the bridge of your nose.
Can you hear my desperate ramblings?
Some nights I hear you calling back.
I know you meant that you'd stick around.
You'd probably be here if if I'd allow.

                                            I will find you.

You come off in the smoke of my morning cigarettes.
Black tar fills my lungs.
With every inhale, I can still taste your nicotine kisses.
(although you hated menthols).
Quitting would means I gave up on you.
I started in hopes to make you stop,
and the habit made itself at home.
Smoking cigarettes keeps your ghost alive in my heart.
You haunt me.