the jacket I stole from my mom when I drove to your house at 2am to have sex with you (and later suppose in a way similar to love).
I wore the jacket, for the first time since that night.
it was a very bad idea to wear the jacket.
I was not ready,
I am not ready.
(l lied, I lied, I lied)
the jacket did little to keep me
warm. it mostly,
held me down like chains with memories of love making and fake love. unintended whorishness as the product of what an asshole you turned out to be. and a love that I was unaware would quickly fade in a small lackluster burst of flames and ash.
(these thoughts mostly caused me to gnaw on the zipper and smoke cigarettes-
now it reeks of nicotine and I have to wash it tomorrow)