it’s been seven months since we met, feels like years since you left and i’m still hungover from the high you gave me- and i’m still picking scabs wondering what the f*** i saw in you in the first place.

i’d like to think i’m stronger than the sunset in brown eyes turned gold with whiskey. or the way someone can drag their teeth down your neck, hard, while they grind into you and finger nails across your arm, gentle, when you lie together afterwards.
god damn, you may as well have been dragging me into hell with every inch of my skin your mouth scaled.

i never knew something could be so bitter and so sweet and so sour all at once until that night, the night we met, lying in the middle of stars and drunk teenagers and empty bacardi gold bottles.

god damn, if i had known you’d be half as vile as that bottle, or half as sweet i would’ve never let me feel this much over you.

you left five months ago.

i’m still hungover.

i’ve loved you since the first shot i took. head thrown back, fingernails leaving little crescent marks in my hands as i grimaced with the bittersweet taste.

months later, feels so much worse than the headache the morning after.

i’m still hungover.