Tastes Like Blood Poem by Wes Thompson

cigarettes burn too fast for this feeling
how can anyone remain constant in a world of such absolutes?
ruins left of a life once full of life
pull out another smoke, fake another smile
leave to get a light, laugh to make her happy
sweet and supple words and tastes
that leave a bitter mess
keep your focus steady
oh, its practically writing itself now
you want it so bad you almost need it
something left to live for, to die for
to put you off to sleep
to haunt your dreams
and fill them with happiness
until you wake
to the same emptiness
you cant give it up
it's so easy but you need it to hurt
this isn't what it was supposed to be
it was supposed to work so well
but now its so simple
you can forgive but you never forget those feelings
those linguistic butcher's knives
all at your lips, burning
her lips, so sweet you need to kiss them
you want, you need, you laugh, you suffer, you love it all
no matter how much you smile, its all on the table now
gutted like a fish
a perfect ending, nothing left to give or ruin, or try to save
yes, it's writing itself now
and then