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May 2015
Your cologne is still on my dress,
and it's haunting me now.
Just when I want to forget you,
your cologne is on my dress.
And your shirt is still in my closet,
how did this all fall through?
Your shirt is still in my closet.
Sometimes I put it on and pretend, pretend you still care.
And your ring is still on my finger.
Was there nothing in that promise?
I remember that night,
the night we became one.
The night I'll have to tell my daughter about when she turns 14.
Maybe I should take it off.
I still remember your voice,
and sometimes I scream so loud I can almost drown it out.
-
Forget everything you know about love,
and ***,
and death.
Because when you walked into my life, I realized that everything I knew was a watered-down version of passion.
Your kiss is still on my skin,
burning me,
painfully this time.
I used to like the burn.
Not anymore.
I was to slice my skin off,
just to stop feeling the burning.
Why be scared of hell,
when I already feel it?
And my neck, my neck is still bruised,
my thighs-are still bruised.
My lips, my lips are still sore,
and my back-it's still bleeding.
Your taste-is still on my tongue,
and somehow it feels like you're still holding my hand.
Even though you're not.
You're using that hand to pull my shirt over my head,
and as you lean over me-
I can still smell your ******* cologne.
Try not to get it on my clothes.
After tonight, after tonight
I want to forget you.
So I'll surrender tonight, but only tonight.
-
Funny what you think of after the wreckage.
My limbs are still intact,
and you're still on top of me.
I promised myself it would only be one last time.
But then you smiled,
and held my hand,
and tied me to the bed.
And now, now I can't leave.
Because your cologne is on my dress.
Your cologne is on my dress,
and I'm tied to this bed.
And your hands are on my chest.
And your lips are on my neck.
And your voice is in my head.
I'm trying to make sense of this mess,
but I can't.
I can't when your cologne is on my dress.
-
You told me that you wanted to be the should for me to cry on,
and you didn't care
if I ruined your shirt.
Funny how it worked out,
because you're the one with your hands around my throat.
I used to ask for it,
not anymore.
Not since your strong hands and smooth wit were replaced.
Replaced by sloppy drunkenness and quick slaps across the face.
-
I don't mind you using me.
I don't mind you eating me from the inside,
out.
Because even though you make parts of my body light up and ignite,
and even though you'll talk to me until 6 in the morning,
and
even though you'll let me pick the movies, you won't care to know me.
You won't care to ask me 'why.'
Your hands will still be around my neck.
I will still be tied to this bed.
Your hands will still be on my chest,
and,
your cologne will
never
leave
my
dress.
Someone
Written by
Someone
686
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