162 pounds of shame is what you are to me.
you used to carry less baggage (a matter of one too many tears)
so I lent you some of mine.
you opened up your soul, and sucked it in with the force
of a black hole.
this game of giving and taking we had, was so unbalanced.
I told you these lies before, almost two years ago
that “your love is steel wool and my heart is fire”
or “your love is iron, broken down and pumping into my bloodstream”
but now I can say with complete faith…
…that your love was nothing more than a rusty nail
that the soft pads of my feet was punctured by,
and I never even received a tetanus shot.
for now your breath reeks of vodka,
a smell that I have learned to despise
from one too many nights over the toilet,
one too many mornings spent recovering.
I found the recovery I needed in a pair of foreign arms,
but of a similar build as the ones who used to hold me…
..yet I feel a relapse coming on,
so pass me that cheap vodka, I need to get drunk.
