You step outside, leaving second-hand smoke
& thoughts of minor chords in your wake.
It’s four am, how the fuck do I get to feel used?
The smell of your sweat is rising off of my body,
While my tears stain your pillowcase.
Something tells me you won’t notice.

(you still can’t figure out when I’m lying.)

I re-smooth clothes over my not so perfect curves,
And prepare to play at false contentment.
One last lip bite to hold in a not quite sob,
While I remind myself that you don’t know the difference.

Wasn’t I just loving you a moment go?

a/n: seating for one in the personal mindfuck section, this way please.