As we fight against time,
Only your scent survives.
I half remember your smile,
Some ideas too,
The shape of your *******,
The size of your *******,
Some of the marks on your naked skin.
The smell of your armpit appears in my memory,
Your mouth after countless cigarettes,
Some tobacco,
Some cannabis.
The scent of your perfume
Mixed with salty sweat.
That musk around your belly button
And the smell of waking up with sour kisses,
To much ***** the night before.
I can't remember your eyes,
I had to leave.

i smoke to
forget the lies
you told me

inhale
breathe hard

exhale
feel relaxed
im calm

i don’t think
about you
anymore

I tend to lose days when my eyes stick, ****** Haze, I couldn't tell you the last meal I ate, or how many hours I've been awake, just that the days and nights have been a passing phase, no more than light change, I've always been a night owl anyway.

See my life started spiralling when she died and I cried hard enough, but not for as long as I need and now my heart is barely beating unless my lips are pointed at fire, and sometimes the flames are men 13 years older, sometimes the flames are tips of cigarettes and my own arm because I'm manic and driving and I'll barely feel it.

I feel nothing and everything all at once.

 Usually, this is when I tell you I met some boy who made my heart stop beating so quickly, when I would tell you how his kisses soothed my burns, but this, is not that story

I met a man who kissed softly, who touched with purpose but delicacy. Who tasted my soul before my body, and made his chest a place I long for... but cannot reach.

My hands hurt from pounding on the walls inside myself, I want to let him in, but my body breaks into shake, my body shudders at the idea of being left again, my voice barely makes out "I love you" before my mind starts racing with what it will look like when he leaves.

I drafted a poem the other night and all I could get down was that the poem I write when he loves me, will never be as good as the one I wite when he leaves, and I still believe that's true, no one has ever shown me a love beautiful enough to write well, or maybe I've just not had enough practice.

It's days like this that I wonder if I knew what time it was, would I still be thinking of you, if I knew what day of the week it was, would I still be stuck in your bed, with your smoke, and your smell. I can't remember the last time I felt so intoxicated without a line, I speed faster from your touch than the red bull and adderall, but love, I crash harder than 3 day binge when you leave

They say addiction will make you forget how to love, but you are a much more dangerous vice.