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This sent you… its,

God why is it I can’t wash your stench from my head,

Or that image from the backs of my eyelids?

Cut the flesh, pull it back,

Pin it in to place, is this me?

Rotten apples grow from bad seeds,

So did it all start from a shit tree,

So did you believe I was clean or guilty of some dastardly deed?

I thought I loved you turns out I loved the thought of anything but me alone in the dark,

 I thought I loved her turns out I was clinging to anything more broken then me.

Stop viewing me as the driver I was only ever the dark passenger,

Now it seems bleach can’t wash you from my sheets.

You dropped me off days ago, the pillow seems so cold,

And silence makes me think I can hear my cigarette screaming every long drag!

I prefer it this way, not a single bit of shame,

Now can you tell me how you are really feeling today?