His nicotine tongue was the most conniving part of his existence.
Every time it made contact with mine,
I tasted Marlboros,
the only brand he would buy.
Whatever his nicotine tongue
did to mine sent me into
a tornado of insanity each time,
like I was one of his cigarettes,
but he put me out,
stepped on me,
before I could burn his lips.
His nicotine tongue told his mouth
to speak such brutal words
that would make me
fall in love with him
over and over,
lighting me up and up,.
He had never kept me lit,
put me out before I could
trick him into thinking
"love"
could be a hole
he could also fall in.
He had carried me
around in his pocket,
his nicotine tongue
telling him to fuel his craving
and pull me out,
wrapping his mouth
around me and breathing me in
until I was no more.
But the more he
breathed me in,
the more his
nicotine tongue
started to die.
I was toxic.
He never did fall in love with me,
but I did end up
being the one to
stomp
him
out.