You smell like peach vodka,
and your leather jacket is cold against my face.
i lean into you, swallowing down the words.
(this feels like sex, and looks like rape,
a victimization of intimacy, you light me
a cigarette while my hands shake, I say,
"they are dripping in blood," and my voice
breaks. the vowels are sharp on my palms.
I flinch, you look helpless. the music screams)
i walk away, and you smile at me,
i stumble, slur pretty words at the boy
with red truck, he laughs at me and shoots you
a curious look. i kiss him, i don't look back at you.
(your laughter was always fake.)
a/n: so many words wandering inside my mind, lost and without a place to rest. I don't know if it is survivable. I think that I'd like to be heavily medicated, so much so that the words are only distant memories.