Wake

We could do so much worse than sitting on your doorstep,
smoking the last of our quiet cigarettes
under a flickering light that shows so much more than it should.
Reveals crashed hearts and broken heads,
chalky bruises and self-induced rage,
Too raw for life at it's finest

You,

with your summer skin and winter blues
The veins too prominent , and you worked so hard to get them that way,
blue and bulging, pressing coldly against too-thin skin.
Dirt under my fingernails,
dark and degrading.
And chapped lips held tight under nicotine stained teeth.

All I want is to lean over,
press against you so hard that our dirty skin molds together
so we can share hollowed lungs and broken ribs.

But stop pretending.

Stop believing.

Stop breathingtryingliving.

We'll never get out of here.
But we could do so much worse.