I want to write about
the one I love,
not the one who left me
high and dry.
You blew cancer into my lungs,
but he pulled the trigger
and I kissed him every day to try and soften the blow.
Now every time my lips touch yours,
I taste blood in my mouth
like a sick reminder of where
my lips used to be placed.

I want to touch you
every day for the rest of my life,
but my hands have been scorched
and burned
from placing them on somebody else.
But the way you touch me
makes me feel as if
all my sins have been erased.

I soon found that
it felt wrong to whisper
I love you
into the midnight air,
because I was so unsure as to who I was talking to
and I wanted you to be the only one
I ever said it to.