I lather my skin in the mist I’ve grown fond of
Why is it that pink vanilla is the solution to my problems?

I’ve always loved the smell
Comforting; yet, somewhat hostile

I envision the time we spent in silence
When I wear the drops of scented denial

Three years later I savor the fragrance
Spraying my pillow with cycling sadness

Knuckles, my weighted stuffie, reeks of coated plight
I inhale then exhale the memories I can’t wipe

Every night I spread pink vanilla amongst my place of comfort
An easing feeling that deprives me of life with you I can’t falter

I’m stuck behind the bars of memories I can’t deplete
Another night inside the cell of pink vanilla deceit