i still think of you
when i smoke joints.
as if a part of me
will never separate you
from the high.
the strange thing about it
is that we never smoked
together. not once.
you taught me
that people can covet people.
that love is sometimes synonymous
with possession, that it’s a dangerous
love to let burn. you taught me
that people can turn to ash just like
houses and cigarettes and love.
you are all that’s left
of the version of me that wanted
everything everyone else did. A family,
a nine-to-five day job and a fat baby and
just enough to be comfortable and happy.
you got what i thought i wanted
and i wonder if either of us will ever really be
i still remember the exact moment
i realized you were colder than i was.
watching you switch it all off made me realize
some people are broken toys and some people
are the ones that break them.