when she walks in,
home is no longer
a home, nothing but
nicotine-stained walls,
a collision of
          sc a t t  ere   d
          s  (ca n         't)
          m e m or ie   s

she's––
( your go-to fuckbuddy.)
––stretched by your side,
laid out bare against
mussed up sheets and
tracing the lines of your ribs
with the pads of her fingers:
your cruel mistress,

and you're
a ******* mess
of blue lips and
trembling hands
even cigarettes and candy
can't seem to quell