12-4-17
Dirt beneath your fingers tastes like satisfaction. Watch the lights rain down as the city passes through, endlessly mellow here. And nothing could fill your car the way winter does, but we numb our fingers to the cold- I touch you anyways. Looking between painted lines for the addict in the both of us. Push you away to come back with instability. No certainty here.
Death is close, pressed up against me like us on the glass. I think a lot about secrecy, and what would be lost with my existence. Two cigarettes beneath the mattress, ones upside down and you couldn't guess why. Night sheeted in silk moonlight, up all night off the magic.
Pressed pigment like roses left in text, and he leaves blushed roses in his texts- pick my face from the dirt like I flower.
Lover, I never asked you to be kind, and I took more than what you thought I could- wasn't just weed, but my teeth I could grind. Say you give me the fine, the price of the world you tell is mine, but I'm the type not to need, and I've got my own, so don't waste no time.
Spiders with venom of truth, they spin webs in the gaps between white. Don't mean to place blame but they've made the lies pour out of my mouth like the neck of some wine. Bloody ends, leave em untied.
- (m.m)