smoke

coffee always tastes like a bonfire to me. it slips down my throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste, makes my heart race and palpitate. my jaw clenches, and the back of my skull throbs. but this shit happens sometimes, you know?

you shatter on the cork floor, or stare into the mesmerizing light of the refrigerator. use a whole box of tissues, and cry into your dinner. you watch parks and rec on your phone, for ten minutes or five hours. i don’t know, does it matter?

because i’m just tired. and angry, and lost. so i’ll lash out, like a child, trapped inside ceramic. can you blame me? can you save me? can you get me out of my head, even just for a little bit? give me neat rules and clear definition, tuck me into bed with a cup of chamomile tea, at 9:23pm. exactly.

and when i wake up, blood will cling to the tips of my fingers like the morning dew, and i don’t fucking know what to do. you whisper sweet nothings in my ear, tell me it’ll all get better if i just listen to you. but i’m not a kid anymore. i know it’s not true.

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