Ash in my mouth

I always run back to you, with my eyes closed.
Remembering the weight of it all.
Your bones in my arms.
A soul wanting to fly.
Your lips find mine and cigarettes singe my soul.
Leaving ash in my mouth.
These dark halls you make me roam, tiptoeing in silence.
Grow narrow and constricting.
Like the love you throw around me.
Circling like smoke.
Falling apart, and left in the cold. Lonely on the filthy streets.
You are the gold that flashes. The carat on the stick I follow.
But you bleed me out.
Gold rushing my love, sieving out the treasure.
(Don’t touch what you can’t afford).
Throwing away my faltering acrobatic anxieties.
Cutting the colours out. Dying them black.
You ask me to fill myself up, with something else.
Something less substantial. The silver of souls.
The tobacco stained parts you give so easily.
That fill me with tar, and are weighing me down.
Sinking into the ocean of you to drown.
Sunken but unique.

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