I still don't know if I like the taste of smoke in my lungs,through my teeth,down my throat.Yet I stand in the cold, flame pressed to my lips.I still ..
I am your friend.When you think of me, you think of my obnoxious laugh, my crass language, my energy.I am not your loverYou don't think of my softness..
i wrote this after i found out that my mother's ex-boyfriend's daughter had committed suicide. it describes the odd sadness i felt and how i could not..