i got drunk on your words,
drunk on the empty promises,
sipped slowly from the devil’s cup as you
told me you loved me.
i ,
i liked to get drunk on beautiful things,
on sweet nothings whispered into my ear,
on rose petals from wilting flowers that you never
bothered to buy me,
on the lingering scent of your
cologne on the bear you asked me to give
back (you eventually disregarded),
on the thread of white , silk spun lies.
on love,
while you get drunk
off of cheap alcohol,
even though you told me
you hated what alcohol does to people,
the way it manipulates states of mind
for the worst.
but i guess you’ve changed.