You whisper to me,
"How would you describe us, baby?"
I take a long look at you, eyes filled with desire,
and I say
"You are simply honey,
the one that's raw,
the one that warms your lips and tickles your tongue,
the one whose taste you'll remember, but still long to taste it again 20 years later.
You're the honey that I don't want to, and neither I can, remove from my lips."
You're stuck in between my teeth, love,
sweet and irresistable,
that's what you are.
There's no other honey in the world like you, you know?
Even those dark eyes of yours
resemble a dark colored honey.
They sparkle and dance while you're gazing at mine
and I can't help but smile.
"But, long story short,
this is the way I would describe us:
You? You are the most delicious honey that has ever touched my skin.
And I? I'm just **** allergic."

last night i found out that you still hold a cigarette between your lips and i just want to smack your stupid face for not quitting,
but what hurts me even more is that you didn't offer me yours and i have been thinking of buying one pack myself and drowning myself in pity and coughed smoke/

what i hate to admit is that you look even more beautiful with a cigarette between your fingers but i refuse to go back to my old self, to the old me who loved the boy with no heart, with smoke in his lungs instead of air, the boy with charming smile, because he wasn't even real, it was a person my mind had created in hopes he would become even more beautiful than he already was/

but at least i hope you had fun on new years and i'm thankful that some girl's lips weren't pressed against yours at midnight, but i don't love you anymore, so i don't know why i even care/

but even with smoke in his mouth, i knew i wanted to kiss him and savor his taste, which i only had presumptions of-
maybe his tongue was a mixture of mint and hurricane or strawberries and sun kissed rose pedals or maybe chocolate and rain but i felt dizzy and out of place when the realization hit me that i will never find out how his lips tasted and felt against mine/

my father warned me about
boys with black, dead hearts
but he hadn't even realized
that his deranged daughter
had become a girl with that same
kind of heart and she was scouting
for boys with nice ones, so she could
break them to pieces
and stomp on them.

but every time she tried,
she was the one who ended up
with a damaged, scratched heart
and she loathed herself for that,
the way she let herself feel even
the slightest bit of pain again.

but she coaxed herself that if she felt,
she was still human and she hasn't turned
into a emotionless, cold blooded monster,
yet.