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A bag of heroin and your good graces. I've got your cell number on the insides of my eyelids incase temptation takes the best of me. Sometimes i feel like i'm still in that tree and you're tickling my feet and pulling me into your car. But lets be real, i never wanted you near me. And there is no nostolgia here. I have your weakest moment and you have mine.
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My fingerprints were all over your guitar. Your sister was home, singing to fleetwood mac and we were excited that it was summer. You were recording me on the stereo. I was spun out of my mind and i was sucking down pixie sticks. I miss the way you smile and the music you used to write. There was nothing that could touch us. The stars ground themselves into dust wishing on themselves. You'd kiss the bottle and i'd swallow the seagulls. Drive-thru windows were open portals, and my anarexia blossomed into black blood vessels under my ribs. You held me still when i screamed.
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Seventeen and on fire. I took shotglasses off your lips and we couldn've pressed flowers between our hips. Snow angels and blood oranges, i was pulling out vampires out of books so i wouldn't have to fall in love. The maps were burned and your telephone wire was my tighrope. I was out of time so i borrowed from the blood bank. They don't have contracts, just a Do Better Policy. The more drugs i did, the more clear i could see the future.
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I parked my life on your glitter spackled lips. I could hear your radiohead static on fm stations. The djs were filing for divorce and pacing back and forth over the picket line. scab, scab, scab. you're torture chamber choo choo. ghost smoke coming out of your stacks, major disappointment, lover. Sipping stereos and falling in love with midwest boys. your coffin wasn't built for two you said. I was your bloody body donor in your bathtub. everytime you blinked i was captured.
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I should have tried harder.
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