Things I smoke up to forget

The noise around, outside; the din within.

The feel of your greedy hands on my skin, the shiver which was a cry, which you took as a win.

The times when I get startled in an elevator because an innocent stranger moves his feet to face mine, without touching me making me shake inside, just like you did – except you touched and stole and ravaged and broke. 

Your breath, fast, labored, and reeking of the pretty pink vodka that you exhale on my face with a base of beer and just a pinch of whiskey thrown in. 

The number of times when I failed when I said I wouldn’t, surprised everytime I won. 

Your palms on my sides, crushing, pushing me back, pinning me down as effectively as the barrel of a gun.

The lost people along the road in this fight against a you that doesn’t even exist anymore outside of my nightmares;

The nightmares that started off with a game of truth and dare. 

Your hands around my waist,pulling – dragging – me, the piss drunk rag doll,  to the bathroom.

The clothes I wore that night – the cute capri and the shirt on which were etched lily blooms. 

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