you are an angel with the white, pink lips bathing in asphalt and blackened undertones of aching broken hearts. you’ll search and search for salvation, only to come back with empty hands and burns on your fingertips.

2. he’s a demon in the night who bathes in moonlight and innocent girls’ sins. he doesn’t keep love around, only for a good one night stand. he’ll search and search for lust, only to come back with his hands full and heart shaped bruises on his neck

3. you think he’ll change for you, but his tongue is sharpened at the tip and it will cut your lips when he kisses you.

4. you’ll try to force your bleeding heart into his palms and tell him to take it and be gentle, knowing he’s going to crush it. “shh, sweetheart. it’s okay. i won’t break it.” but he does so anyway.

5. sitting underneath the stars at midnight watching the night go by as he gets into another girl’s car. leaving you empty and hollow.

i’m now breathing the air that you stole
and it fills and spills into my heaving lungs

baby, why does your love hurt so bad?
you said everything that’s beautiful comes with pain, and darling, you’re a true masterpiece. i should’ve known.

i’m swallowing the lump in my throat
while you’re swallowing pills one by one

we’re not the same anymore, my love
you’re far too broken
and i am healed.

you told me you had it under control as we’re in the car driving down a dark road, my body tenses and i nod my head.

you always have things under control, don’t you? at least, you always claim to.

but do you remember the times where you almost bust your head on the kitchen’s counter every time you get drunk because you needed to feel something else running in your veins instead of the pain of your trauma?

or how about the times where you flicked the ashes on my skin and put out the cigarette on my hand because you wanted someone else to feel your pain.

you said love meant feeling each other’s pain and i believed you. i took all your pain and carried it on my back so you didn’t have to.

it was a piggy back ride i never fully consented to, but i still went along with it because i loved you and told you there was nothing i wouldn’t do to see a smile on your face.

but the baggage got harder to carry whenever you were adding on to mine and yours at the same time.

sometimes i can still feel my spine ache when i think about it
and sometimes i can still feel that **** cigarette.

the woman lays her halo on the pillow that used to be mine.

she sips my red wine and gets drunk off his fermented words, her long legs are wrapped around his body as she lets out a laugh

she knows what she’s doing
so now this drink is too hard to swallow

does she ******* margarita tongue when kisses him?
i really hope she does.

my mother always warned me about drugs.

she always warned me what they could do and how they possibly could end your life

but mama never warned me about the one that had dark brown eyes and a heartbeat.

he smelt like cologne and regret
but tasted like cherries and cream
every time we kissed, i had a new memory

our first kiss.
eager lips and touching before he got me into bed, and took what was mine. i woke up with aching between my thighs as he told me he loved me while i laid there wrapped in silk.

our third kiss.
it was in a tour bus. everyone was loud, but i could still hear my heartbeat. his breath was shaky and i felt it on my lips before he pressed his on them. his brothers and friends cheered us on.

our eighth kiss.
this is where things got tricky. we didn’t kiss to love anymore, we kissed for lust. he stopped kissing me as an act of care and affection, but started as a way to make me beg for his touch. he knew how to get me eager and ready for him, and he took advantage.

our last kiss.
it was rainy, and i was sobbing as he screamed things that were aching my heart. he was walking out the door when i grabbed him and gave him a final kiss. that’s when i tasted the cigarette ash and liquor. something that tasted bitter.

he no longer tastes
like cherries and cream.

the devil with jet black hair and ink covering his arms and chest, i can still taste his serpent tongue like blood and cigarettes ash on the lips of any lover, and i cry tears of shame and regret.

dear lord, people tell me they want to hold
my body and protect me from him
but i don’t want them to hold me because their touch burns like acid

i heard he’s been on a liquor and pill diet
my lover always liked the pain
that’s why they called him the ******* after all.