Nicotine words slide from your
sly smile and cunning tongue
through gaps of my teeth
cutting my throat like fiberglass
as I swallow.

It's worth the high the pain will give me,
sinking into your sandstone trap.
Those nostalgic feelings
of maroon Mercedes rides to the liquor store
with the wondering eyes of an older guy.
I wish I had known you better.

That was three summers ago, and today
your name doesn't have the same
******* feeling when it's said.
Now old enough to buy my own poison
at the liquor store, its no longer
your lips that I purchase to
get drunk off of.