*****.
No mixer.
No ice.
You never liked your ***** cold.
You'd sit there in the corner,
Slamming your drinks like they were water.
Like you were a fish on land.
Gasping for air.
No one drank like that unless they were running away from something.
What were you running from?
You finished what had to of been your fifth or sixth drink.
You got up from the bar,
And stumbled towards me.
You smelled of peppermint and tobacco.
Your eyes were bloodshot.
You asked to buy me a drink.
I was running from something, too.
***** and Red Bull.
Lots of ice.
We shared our thoughts.
You asked for a kiss.
I declined.
I said, "I want to get out of here."
You said, "Let's go back to mine."
We shared a laugh.
I even let you kiss me.
Little did I know, I would be running away from you, too.
I never got to ask you what your name was;
And I never got to tell you mine.
And to be honest, I don't even remember the color of your eyes.
But I remember what it felt like when you pushed up my skirt.
And I remember your scent made me want to *****.
I now hate the smell of peppermint.
I drink my ***** warm.