cigarettes

the tips of your fingertips smell of cigarettes. the sour smell of smoke and the rough feeling of your chapped lips. lips stained with the taste of Marlboro reds. every kiss a sour taste coats my lips, my tongue, the back of my throat. one kiss away from coughing at the irritating flavor, and yet i still grab on to the back of your neck.

i still pull you further into my embrace and melt at the feeling of your hands snaking their way around my waist. i kiss you and fall deeper into your warmth as the cold engulfs us and the lit cigarette that was once in your hand now crackles under your shoe.

the best part is, none of it was real. you weren't there except in my mind and the cigarette flooding my tastebuds still burns in my right hand as i stare at a clear winter sky. i've imagined you, created you in my mind. frakensteined you in my brain with the best parts of people who no longer exists in my hemisphere.

being lonely creates strange desires when all you're left with is the cold air, the quiet, and the stark realization that i am alone in reality. at least the mind is easier to trick.