the ***** I drink much too often burns, yes, but not as much as your name does when I'm spitting it out like venom, blaming you for my own inconsistency.

the smoke that briefly fills my lungs leaves my head spinning and my heart beating a thousand miles an hour, but nothing can make me shake the way you did with your lips pressed to my neck.

the cuts left by rusted razor blades inevitably burn no matter where they're made, but nothing stings more than the tone in your voice when you say you wish you didn't love me.

the tears that stain my t-shirt have turned into tidal waves but instead I'm drowning in thoughts of you and I don't know how to tell you how I feel without telling you that I love you but I don't feel anything at all anymore.