Lips like kerosine. Burning and infectious to my touch.
That's all I can think about right now,
Trying to claw out the last fucking bits of you that ruined my facade of sanity.
Forcing myself to be rid of what I thought made me better.
I know blurry streetlights better than any other man,
And I hurts to say that I miss them without you.
Amber red glow doesn't feel the same without your hand on mine as the rain drips through the holes in my brain.
It's quiet.
I hate turning on the radio, there's so safety in listen to boring people ramble.
It's not like when I listen to music in this car all I can see if us fucking in the back seat or anything.
God,
If I slammed my hands onto this steering wheel any harder I'm sure I'd break it too.
Why the hell do my hands rip everything they touch, from your heart to your eyes?
—your lips tasted like kerosene, and ignited a fire.
YOU ARE READING
The Flowers Bloom Here
ŞiirPoetry based on my life, plus some short stories. An endless world of my freedom, open for your viewing. Enjoy the flowers.
