Tears pour down my face like Autumn rain, my heart bleeds profusely from the wounds you inflicted within me.
Distraught, thoughts of all the other women that climbed ontop of you spin through my mind like a carousel. All the women who were inbetween the arms I called a home, all the women underneath the body I called a lover.
You scold at me to stop, but I can’t escape what could of been.
Your rebuke does not sting like your dishonesty, but I know I am not insane nor am I paranoid.
I am just sick, sick to death of being hopelessly in love with you.
And just like that I was thrown away and forgotten.
I opened my legs for disrespect to slither inbetween them.
I laid on a bed that wasn’t my own, to be spoken to like I have no home.
I gave away my most precious gift to give a man a sense of possession.
But all this did was teach me a lesson; I am a whore, I am a whore.
No matter what I wore or however much I swore to the almighty lord, he thinks I am nothing but a whore.
I miss the smell of your cigarette stained finger tips, the way the scent would linger under my nose as you stroked my lip.
I crave your nicotine drenched kiss, I need my fix.
I place a cigarette inbetween my lips, but it doesn’t have the same kick, nicotine tastes better when it’s off your lips.