His breath smells of whiskey and menthol cigarettes
The mint flavoured gum between his teeth- a failed attempt to hide the stench
His hands slide in the gap between your skin and the waistband of your pants
And he whispers, "I love you."
But you know it's the alcohol combined with the bulge in his pants talking.
You know that you won't be his the morning after.
His alcohol soaked breath fills your ears
Whispering sweet lies
You know there won't be enough room in his bed for you the next morning
His soul is a twin-sized matress
And you're a queen, after all.
But you want him to love you
You don't want to accept that he wants you for what's between your thighs
So you tell yourself he's just as in love as he says he is
But what you want is not always what is best
Because you may want the vodka
But it will still burn your chest.
And you must decide
Whether the hangover
Is worth it.
