i know these brand names like they're childhood friends, the fire sliding down my throat is a cold burn in the pit of my stomach;

                                                         it doesn't warm me like your arms used to. this bad habit is eating away at my small frame,

                                                             but the damage isn't nearly as great as the way my bones cave in when they're missing you.

                                                                         my limbs are heavier than lead pipes, i'm mentally back in that car, back on that couch, back in your arms.

                                               no matter how far the calendar goes, day after day crisscrossed off, pages falling to the ground, i'll still be stuck in those moments with you.

those moments feel like home, my happy place, the one place i always want to return. 

I should have left you alone.

because making homes out of people you'll always have to watch go,

well its enough to break your soul. its enough to wish you had always been alone; you'll be so cold after its over.

                                    After they've gone. After the world is quiet and the hearth of their heart beating to the rhythm of yours has gone silent, you will wait...

                                                                    you will wait in eternal heartache because your home no longer feels like home, and the fire is as cold as the bottle nestled like a child in your hands.

                                         these bottles will be your only friends in misery. so light the fire in your own bones; a Molotov cocktail to end the night, just enough fire and poison to help you sleep without his arms around you.


(i did change the format. on here. the format kinda got all wacky when i did it like this on tumblr, so i left in like paragraph form-ish but this is how i originally wanted it anyway.)

The End

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