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.