You've started me a habit,
given me a vice.
An addiction to the burning
of whiskey lips on ice.
Of blurred vision, falling words,
and a lucky clouded memory.
A blackened silhouette dependency,
swaying slow, loose,
stumbling.
You gave me something I shouldn't have,
something that will kill me.
It seems, in some ways,
it already has.
I let you break my pieces,
bit by bit,
watching each fall away
with every kiss.
I needed it to hurt,
to burn.
So that in time
there would be nothing left
but coal where embers
had once burned.
given me a vice.
An addiction to the burning
of whiskey lips on ice.
Of blurred vision, falling words,
and a lucky clouded memory.
A blackened silhouette dependency,
swaying slow, loose,
stumbling.
You gave me something I shouldn't have,
something that will kill me.
It seems, in some ways,
it already has.
I let you break my pieces,
bit by bit,
watching each fall away
with every kiss.
I needed it to hurt,
to burn.
So that in time
there would be nothing left
but coal where embers
had once burned.