Its 11 at night, my eyes in despair.

They're wanting, searching for the

candy that was once mine. My ha

nds claw the sheets, my lungs fill

ing with that ing smoke ; thou

gh all I feel is you.

 

I scream out, my eyes not shutting;

for they are just searching for the

sunkissed fingers that used to carr

ess my hair. There's that black fee

ling again, my back arching in need.

Maybe a cigarette, will calm my feet.

 

I get dressed - my hoodie on, my

eyes shutting now as I curse at

myself. it's late at night, and I'm g

going out for a ing cancer stick.

A cigarette, only I wonder; is it to r

eplace you?

 

For only a spare moment, to inhale

the smoke. My lungs rage for you.

To feel your lips slide across my ski

n; memories covering me whole. ‘I

want you’, I cry out, but there is only

the drag of cold air carrying my

smoke.

 

I bring out my phone, accidentally

typing your name in. , I'm an

idiot. But really, only for you. Sudd

enly, I want the ash to grow in my

lungs, maybe they're suffocating

me and that's why I cant sleep.

 

Is it cancer?

Or is it you?

 

Is this my cells dying, or is it just

ash. My tracheas closing, is it your

fault? Are you even here at all, mi

amour? I'm raw, suddenly; not bei

ng able to walk in a straight line.

My eyes blur, is it tears? Or is it you?

 

I don't feel safe anymore. No more

confidence, no more flirtatious acts.

I'm dizzy, the cute bunny boy smile

gone and disappeared. I miss being

your kookie. You're everything.

It all comes crumbling down, my

knee caps going, dropping until it

hits the concrete. Maybe I shattered

them, but it's okay, I've been through

it before. Shattered, I mean.

 

There's a car coming. Is it going to

hit me? But I do not move. Impulsion

makes my eyes close. There's a hit,

a cry, and an explosion in my ears.

But who actually hit me? Was it the

car or you? Is it my fault or yours?

 

I know it's useless to dwell on these

thoughts, but I just want to be left on

these streets. You try to be strong

and not get drunk every night. But you

fail;I fail myself. I fail because I'm weak.

If I tried for real, I wouldn't be falling.

 

But there's something peaceful about

being sad.

 

If I tried for real, I could stop. Stop

crying, stop drinking; I would. But

I like the feeling of being tormented.

It's a distraction from the memories.

A distraction from how we used to

hold each other. How I used to plant

that dark hickey just above you heart.

 

‘Now I'm always right at your heart.’

I said it with a laugh, my finger falling

along the lines of your neck. Was it

happiness? Or was it you? I remember

how we used to kiss, my sweet baby.

I'd call you my little kitten and youd

return with the sweetest blush, the

drug; my candy.

 

Remember when we made love? How

I'd set you on the window sill and mark

your neck and wrist with bites? I'd com

pliment you, and you'd hang onto me.

like I was your everything. Was it love?

Or was it you?

 

I grip the bars of my balcony, my eyes

sobbing as I break. Was life as pointless

as it seemed at that moment? I look

down, the wind flashing in my hair.

 

Though is it life, or is it you?