I exist in his lower lip,
and upper teeth.

I exist in the way he used to say my name,
twisted and voluptuous.

I exist in the shade of his black curtains,
the last breathe of his cigarette,
and the slow sip of his drink.

I exist in the backseat of his car,
3 a.m sharp on his wrist watch,
and every knock on my bedroom door.

I exist in the sake of our past,
in every attempt of forgetting him without losing myself,
but I do not exist in his memory.

Even through the midnight insomnia, drunken, drugged up death binges, I still remember your face. Don't think I'm lying, I still remember the taste of the salt in your tears. Soaking up your hopes and fears, what had I become.

Your death.
Your wake up call.
Your very last piece of failure.

Goodbye.

I guess she was the one
And I was just for fun








I don’t blame you
I don’t want me either

if you
find yourself
constantly trying
to translate your soul's
language for them
they're not the
one for you.