It's a cold and bitter day
But sometimes bitter is okay
I could never handle
All the sugar coating but
I guess I never expected you
To be so blunt
Nevertheless
Mornings taste better
With nicotine between my teeth
And I always picture the sight of you
In the middle of October
When my breath curls into little flowers
In the frigid air
But the cold isn't all that does it
I see you in foggy bathroom mirrors
Covered in steam
And I can hear you in echoes
Of labored breaths off the shower walls
Ugh
I miss you
And it leaves a funny taste in my mouth
Remembering my knuckles on a white sink
And my knees bruised and scraped
I used to take pride in my wild ways
But they're just memories now
Hazy images from a time of drowning
But it sure felt like breathing
And the high of you
Was so intoxicating
Even better than the whiskey on your tongue
And I can remember the height of it
Hotel rooms and cheap bottles
Lying on mahogany tables
Next to crumpled up papers
And styrofoam boxes that carried
More bones than they did hopes
I can hear the tv static
And your voice
Over the flick of a bic lighter
Telling me to get in the tub
.
.
.
It always smelled so nice in there
And the water was always loud enough
So I couldn't hear you or myself just
A ticking clock
This metronome in my head
Reminding me always
Time
Is running out
And I'd stare at bruises on my arms
Trace the cracks in the floor
I wondered how high I could get
Or how low
But morning brings its peace
Or some semblance of it
And I find my fate usually
In the bottom of a coffee cup
The smell of it solidifying my place here
My monotonous life
Wrapped up in hints of hazelnut
And vanilla smoke
Maybe I'll be calm enough to enjoy the warmth
Sitting and picking at the paint on my nails
While the last of the caffeine
Vibrates through my shaking fingers
A breath never felt so unsteady
But I knew my place
And I thought you might too
But people don't make those choices
Over coffee
They make them after dinner
With their dresses hiked up
And belts around ankles
With slammed doors and quiet corners
In fast cars and packing tape
The last thing to do is watch the empty mug
Rolling on the table in lazy circles
And think maybe you'll clean it
Once the cream dries
And the bottom gets sticky
Or maybe you'll throw it out
Give up on the mug
Like they gave up on you
Because nothing is worth keeping
In a life like that