disaster

i'm like comparing honey suckles to rose thorns

both of my arms ******* ache
in more ways than just longing for another needle

my house is cluttered with your ghosts

whispers telling me you're still coming home

you used to tell me you loved the way my voice sounded when i read my poetry to you
and now i don't ever feel like writing

except i saw you two days ago
and you said i tasted sweet and you kissed me like we were still getting married tomorrow

and i've wanted to die ever since