our first kiss was a promise,
a promise that shouldn't have been made in the first place.
it was just something we'd mentioned, wanted,
but never thought to follow through with.
it was meant to soothe the pain between us,
your body and my heart, or maybe the other way around.
but in the end, we were left with nothing
but the cigarette smell on your jacket
and the person i needed to crawl back to.

our second kiss was commisery,
both of us scrubbed raw and bleeding.
ironic, how we just rubbed salt in the wounds.
they say it makes it better but it always just hurts.
to keep the ***** out of our mouths,
we just kept them busy,
like somehow our state of mind would care
that we were in public and that shame doesn't mean
a lack of composure.

our third kiss was a compromise,
a final pinky-swear that maybe we won't off ourselves after all
[but promise you'll leave me a note if you do].
somehow we traded off pain,
and i shouldered your stories while you brushed off mine.
i told you i'd try to get it together,
you told me you'd try not to fall in love.
hopefully you kept your end of the bargain,
because at least one of us needed to.