Gunmetal cold barrel to my head,
the smell of his slow suicidal tendencies
in the form of cigarettes hanging off the edge of
his words.

Cold Gray-ash eyes stare bullet holes into me.
The trigger ready to be pulled,
he's teasing me with a finger caressing...

Cologne sparks sharp scents,
the wind carries his essence,
pure ice scents,
into my veins.

My lungs encase the newfound delicacy
eating up the smell.
Hungry for more of him,
I bite my lip wishing it was his skin.



His aesthetic
Snacking on my soul
And I do not decline.