One morning I woke up and he was no longer there laying next to me in bed. I smelled his scent of old spice on the white cotton sheets. I called his name. Once. Twice. I decided to get up and look for him. I noticed our bathroom door is shut, and I opened it. He lays there with a two needles on the ground. I want to think this couldn't be. But I would be fooling myself.
Touch
That hand,
The hand you laid upon me,
The hand that filled me with love,
The hand that inflicted me with pain,
Why does the roughness of your hand still haunt me,
In my sleep I smell the cigarettes,
I taste them in my mouth,
The mouth you once forced yourself in,
I can still feel the roughness of your stubble upon my lips,
The lips that many boys have kissed but never kissed back,
I can still feel your pressure,
The pressure you pushed upon me,I still feel fear.
