cigarette bud talk
feel your tongue curl in your mouth as you choke on your words that you should’ve said ages ago.
they fermented, they’re your bad breath and that sour taste you leave in the new woman’s mouth.
“why do you taste this way” she’d ask, hopeful you had lunch but really, you had none for two weeks now; you smile as she says you look healthier, but it’s only the rum and endless cigarettes you poison yourself with at night to fall asleep; lucid dreaming of memories you once thought were your whole life.
it’s the baggy sweater she bought you assuming your health; but you never got naked for her, she can’t see your rib cage breaking through your skin trying to spit out your heart.
i’m just a piece of shit now. they say.
but she’ll never know, if you haven’t either.