I tried to pull you out of the cotton in his shirt but he called me baby where you called me babe and I knew he could never be you. He can paint bruises into my neck, carve marks into my hips, he will never be you. And I hate that, probably more than anything, because you took everything that meant something to us with you when you left and no one will ever feel the same as you again. We were stars dying and collapsing in on ourselves just to hold on a little longer. No one else will ever feel like fire against my skin, burning, scarring. He's all lust and his dry lips tasted like a different girl and you were so much love I couldn't even begin to feel cold. You're words were secondhand smoke in my lungs, like things you've told all before. But you're gone again, like love in the summer, and I've got to say I've preferred winter ever since.
YOU ARE READING
aligning stars
Poesíai collected the stars for you but you already had the moon ❁book of original poems and prose❁
