captain morgan stares back at me from behind my blurring retinas
and i'm wondering a million different things
(that all stem from your hand caressing my skin) and it's pitch black
even when i light up my cigarettes in the chilling summer air. my ankle bleeds
and my lips hurt and your fingertips turn me on fucking high heat.
we sleep together and i feel your cheekbones on mine. i think this is what
love would feel like if i hadn't had so many shots.
(one, two, three, four, five, sex.) and my eyes are bloodshot because i don't sleep.