Day 5 (tw)

 I still feel your hand on my throat,

the smoke in my lungs. 

It burns, 

But it was something. 

Better than the aching guilt. 

Was I that fun of a time to you? 

The drugged-up,

sex whore

You wanted me to be. 

The girl I couldn't. 

Some sick part of me wishes I hadn't gone

And worn that dress. 

Those fishnets

You adored so much.

I can't take back what happened

As much as I know you wish I would. 

You told me you were high too, 

That it wasn't a conscious decision. 

But your touch still singes my skin, 

Leaving hollowed-out bones

In it's wake.