remembering the story of the cigarette burns on my inner thighs

A cup of coffee and a dirt stained carpet
wind chimes singing a lonely song in the half-hearted wind

Fix me up with caffeine and a nicotine hit
sitting in the imaginative boredom of my lacking inspiration
remembering long lost kisses on the lips of girls
that wanted me to be the heart
to save their destitute souls

Don’t you know, you’re nothing to me
when I’ve always been an apathetic attention whore
don’t you know, I don’t need your love

Drunken phone calls and confessions of sex
you’re just like me, and I’m just like you
lonely and bored and looking to fill the beating void
in our darkened ribcages

Cigarette burns on my underwear
smouldering ash on my inner thighs
slapped in haste
cheap wine was always my biggest lack of judgment
coupled with late night TV and phone calls I’d always forget

Tell me, did I make you cry?
Did I lose myself in insanity’s procession
of drunken word vomit?

In the morning light
I’ll tell myself I’m not a bitch
and every drunken word was justified
never stopping to wonder why I’m lonely
though I’ll tell you a secret
if you promise to stitch your lips to it

I’ll never love you, because loving you
would mean loving someone like me
and if we’re going to be honest here
I just don’t love myself enough

So, no, I don’t wonder why I’m lonely
among dust motes on a dirt stained carpet
staring into a cup of coffee
remembering the story of these cigarette burns
on my inner thighs

© Indie Adams 2012