as im typing this im thinking a million miles a minute, miles past the stars that i see whenever i look up at the night sky when im smoking because if  i dont have your lips on mine i want something that tastes like you do. you. you with your whiskey lips and ***** tongue and absinthe eyes and *** hands that warm me and drain me and knock me on my back from the overdose i so eagerly crave. crave you like you crave everything and everyone, you cant just have one you need them all because how could someone like you ever be satisfied. satisfaction flees from you and you reach out with broken hands to grasp it but your fingers no longer work from all the walls youve punched and hearts youve shattered. theyre dry and cracked and blistered from the fires you started and leave behind everywhere you go. you create and you destroy and you abandon only to come back and apologize and try to build again but nothing will be as beautiful as what you have destroyed. the foundation is shoddy and the door gets caught sometimes and wont open and the floors creak and the windows arent sealed so the cold wind flows throughout chilling all who try to live there. and the chiminey is blocked so fires built to warm only create smoke that choke the visitor and make them depart wondering how anyone could have created such a house and who in their right mind would ever live there. i was a beautiful victorian estate created by your hands from the ground up. i was in pieces when you found me but you put me together and showed me my beauty and my spaciousness and grace and loveliness and age old charm. i was demolished in the wake of your destructive force and now no one can unlock my door but you sneak through a window after you break it with a rock that says im sorry and i always let you in but the fires you light envelop the house in a black cloud that stains and ruins. you escape before you choke and i wait for the smoke to clear and replace my window but never with bullet proof glass like i should and i sit and wait and listen to the sound of the door **** turning unsuccessfully and another person gives up on trying to come in and i sit and i wait to hear the sound of breaking glass and the sound of your footsteps across the creaking floors.