i’ve got ghosts curling out of my mouth and they’re dancing with my cigarette smoke
they’re pressing their vacant mouths to the nicotine lips
wispy entrails of fog intertwine with the skeletal hands of my past selves
i feel like i’m intruding on an intimacy not meant for my eyes
like i’m witnessing the kind of love i’ve never known
but it’s desperate and needy and grabby and it gets uglier the longer you look
and what i thought was a love story looks more like horror
what i thought was a tender touch was just the beginnings of a hand closing around a throat
what i thought was a kiss was just the beginnings of a soul being ****** from the inside out

but then suddenly i’m smoking a cigarette filter and it seems the story is over.