too weird to live, too rare to die

v. nicotine

you told yourself you would never go back--

that she was bad for you,

she was leading you on with her pretty hair and her pretty lying eyes and those pretty lying lips of hers,

and she's clearly using you for one thing when you're using her for another,

you told yourself you'd never go back, cross my heart and hope to die;

but here you are again--

in her room, yanking on your jeans while she fixes her hair in the mirror and you hate her, hate her so much, because while you said good morning she said goodbye and she didn't open her mouth but you saw it in her eyes, those lying eyes--

curse those eyes.

it's a fucking drag.

you saw a therapist once and he called you an addict,

and the irony was that this was before you took up drinking and smoking and all the vices vegas has to offer,

and when you asked him what he meant he said you had an addictive personality type--

that you have a tendency to throw yourself headfirst into situations that can only end badly,

so maybe this is your addiction at work;

or maybe she is too powerful to resist--

at home you wash the sin from your face,

and you think of how she kissed you, hard,

like she was stealing the breath from your lungs,

and how every time you look at her in bed you seem halfway convinced that she might just be in love with you too,

and you curse your lungs, curse your eyes,

and you tell yourself, just one more hit,

one more hit and then we're through,

'cause she can never love me back,

she will never love me back;

but you've never been good at keeping promises, have you?

***A/N:  This is not dead I promise***