He tasted like medicine.
Cough syrup really.
Cough syrup and smoke.
Not cigarette smoke, but smoke from a fire.
A big fire.
She smelled like weed.
It was in her hair
Growing out of her ears
Rooting in her eyes.
That's why they were always bloodshot.
People smelled like flowers.
Not like wild flowers
Flowers of a funeral
Mostly hydrangeas and daisies.
Fields growing in their throats.
My cat smelled of honey.
Which never clicked as he was white.
Snow really.
That's what I named him.
Snow...real original, I get it.
The gentlemans club reeked of desperation and exasperation.
Sweat and tears
The occasional copper feel of blood wafting through the air
Fucking and lust
Guilty pleasures sweating down the married men
Me? I believe I smelled like depression.
Smoke and alcohol.
Whiskey maybe?
No...blood.
Copper and smoke, that sounds a lot better.
Maybe because of all the promiscuous sex, or the constant gunshots outside my window.
Whatever it was, my house reeked of it. I smelt the day I went in, after months of living away. Trying to find a place where I can call home.
YOU ARE READING
My poems
AléatoireI will write my deepest, saddest thoughts here. Warning, you may cry, or scream, or tell someone you love them more then ever. But please don't be angry with me.
