I listened to your words like they were the rush of nicotine I crave.

I listened to you as you played victim to your own crimes.

Your crimes against me.

Cheated and bruised I still relied on you.

My reliance on you was like my cigarette addiction.

I craved you, I wanted you, sometimes needed you, but in the end, you were cancer in my lungs just like the smoke.

Soon enough you broke, under the pressure of cleaning up the mess you made.

The mess you had made of me.

You left pieces of me scattered throughout the yard of an old house where the memories of your lips on my skin lie.

The memories of the promises you shattered while you left bruises on my heart and skin.