I had beautiful words, once.
But,
I used them and used them
and they started to bump into eachother
and get rough
around the edges.
My words began to fray
and when they started to disappear,
so did you.

You were beautiful, once.
I don't know if you are anymore,
but our last moments are old,
and I've replayed them in my mind
over and over
and they're starting to get rough
around the edges.

I'm second guessing everything so that it doesn't hurt as much.
I didn't like it when you traced my collarbones with your lips,
I didn't like it when you pressed your palms against the inside of my thighs
and wrapped your fingers around my skin
and leaned in to kiss me
as delicately and passionately as you could.
I hated it.


Your mouth always tasted like chewing tobacco.