just like the cigs.

you hate all your scars,
but i love to trace them in your sleep,
forever a part of you and your dreams,
the skin stitched in all the right places
to keep you all strung high and together,
but still falling apart by the threads of your
bitter regrets.

but your beauty is so much farther than smile-deep.
because you're just as beautiful
when you're screaming bloody dragons at me,
with nothing but fire between your tonsils.

you're just as gorgeous
when you're leaking your stardust,
on your way to venus and back.
like the hydrant on the corner of
me and you,
with a shotgun shell down the middle.
you're still as breathtaking as
cocaine to an addict's lonely apartment.
sorry.

your highway of wants and speed limits of boundaries,
connecting my head to your ankles,
but never,
will i ever be used to how openly you forget.
and i know you hate them but
i love to feel your scars
when we're both falling asleep,
because some spark in my callused fingers
and some electrons in your damaged tissue
like to salsa dance down
the back of my throat when you drift
faster than i do.

you're still just as radiant
when the lights are trying to drown you
up and out and down
as when we're alone,
and you're smiling.
and i love to pretend that you're boiling,
when i feel like just another jar in the fridge.

even though,
maybe,
we're both much stupider now
than we were when we met.