You wiped my tears away

and it seems like it should have been so fucking romantic:

callused fingertips brushing smooth made-up cheeks

and I want to kiss you when you do it, but I'm already

giving you everything I have.

-

My legs make angles against the backseat, sharp and sexual

like all those give me words:

baby, I, love, you. I could whisper in your ear

-

I was an addict before I was born but you're pulling me out

piece by piece and it's like a shred of tobacco

on the top of twenty pure white filters, I want to get you off

but the sin looks so good.

-

Skinny, is the way I look without my shirt, and it is

not fucking romantic, the way you can trace my ribs as they

intertwine with my veins, so blue it's like I

was an addict before I was born. You inject me with

everything I never wanted and I light up a cigarette with the windows

all the way up, letting it fill your car with

forty toxins

the box says. Smoking is going to kill me, unless you do it first.

I want to whisper in your ear

-

baby, I love you but you've already given me satisfaction

and it only hurt half as much as the

thin thread of a needle

tying me up into butterfly knots: anxiety is the color of blood,

love is the color of my shadow on your black leather seats,

-

strangely sexual angles

like angel wings and you want to turn me on but

I'm out of lighter fluid.

-

I inhale too fast and forget to breathe,

call it fucking romantic that you take my breath away

-

but it's only because

I smoke to forget what it is that makes me love you

and I'm always trying to forget

to forget.

I was an addict before I was born and it's so hard

to remember what I'm supposed to be addicted to:

is it your fingers, his needles, the blood, the nicotine,

the two hits that send me flying like

an angel o(n)r some heroin(e).

-

Clever, you shake your head and plunge deeper.

I want to drown because it feels too good,

you feel too wrong, this is not what I need

so I whisper (and it looks like it's fucking romantic

but all I say is)

-

I'd rather be dead than be addicted to you. And you say

-

baby, I, love, you. Strung out, the tears come down,

you wipe them away. Oh, we're such fucking romantics.