Your scent
clings onto the inside of my mind.
Making me read between the lines
Of every decision I make.
Wondering if it was really mine
or if your scent interfered
with my judgement,
making me biased.
Who's really in control here?
Me?
Or the memory of the smell of smoke
Clinging to your clothes,
Your pillows,
My clothes,
The four walls I was stuck in.
I picked up the sledgehammer
and broke out of the four walled
Smoke filled house,
that I could never call home.
Just so I could make a decision,
that isn't formed through
smoke inhalation,
and a tight grip on my wrist.
This is me fighting back.
This is me deciding to fill the room
with lemons and sugar.
I light the wick to over power the smell of you,
clinging to the inner walls
of my memories.
YOU ARE READING
Everything Inbetween
PoetryPoetry written by me. Featuring my experiences, some bad metaphors, and everything in-between. Mostly free-verse. Ongoing.
