i made a home for myself,
inside the lungs that you filled with cigarette,
and it wasn't anything beautiful or poetic that made me leave:
i ran out of air.

you called me your princess,
but i wore bruises on my emotions instead of a tiara.
i used makeup to hide the stains of sleepless, tearfilled nights,
chameleoning myself into your facade of lovers bliss.

i ran for my life when i ran from you,
the toxicity of your carbon monoxide affections;
revealed when i let myself become high on oxygen,
to breathe it all in.