i choked and coughed.
how was i supposed to know that was the last memory i would have from you?
i forgot to hold my breath
as the smell of cigarettes
mixed with your perfume
filled the sharp
dead air
around us.
»be patient.« i said to myself, not believing my poor, promising words.
i knew how promises were there to be broken.
oh, how beautiful guilt was.
»everything is going to be alright.« i said to myself, not believing my foolish, promising words.
oh, how beautiful faith was.
every time
you decided
to destroy yourself
with that little
powerful glowing stick
hanging in between
your full pink lips
absorbing your
will to live
a bit more.
oh, how beautiful cigarettes are.
they keep you from turning into your true coloured self, don't they?
a monster, so white and unapproachable, impossible for the grey to understand.
oh, how beautiful you smelt.
a trace of perfume is all that is left, isn't it?
a faint scent, of the fragrance that I used to love, that offered warmth in the coldest nights, that is now possible to smell only with impossible effort.
i am
not judging you.
who am i
to judge you?
we all find things
that keep us
from turning
into a monster
don't we?
we're all turning
into a monster
aren't we?
so white and unapproachable, impossible for the grey to understand.
oh, how beautiful monsters are.
