It's a ****** time in the morning to miss your warmth, because it was a habit and not a necessity. Like the attention you gave me.
The kiss on the head.
The kiss on the hand.
No matter how hard I scratch my skin, you still linger on me. I'm choking on the smell of you.
Anger boils up inside me till I can't see straight anymore, and I think of the time you told me you were "force fed" scotch and it had killed you, but you were sorry.
You're never sorry and I am too tired to live with the fact that you're guilty.