iii. hollow ember and scars

so be it, i'll admit that it feels like the cheap cigarette burned down to its last drag, smoky ash trailing like promises i can never keep, and it’s like i'm floating, numb, in the dull flicker of lime lights, each breath a slow burn, each touch a sinful regret. maybe i'm just another placeholder in this space, another fix to block out the noise in your head. you'll have to admit it, because it's not just in my head, right? of course, you’re there, always close enough to drown me in the haze, and i let you, i don't know why but i let you anyway, even though i feel the weight of something heavier will find its way to settle in, like something itching like a fresh scar that you surely remember to kiss whenever the blood dries out, all while i'm the backdrop to someone else’s story. because you'll have to admit, no one else would wait for you in the backstage door, right? yeah, of course, when your hands graze my skin, it’s not desire, it’s necessity, like a crumpled smoke you can’t put down until the ash burns your fingers, even when you know i'll be the ashtray to your cigarette. i know you wouldn't hurt me but you did, anyway, and i can’t even blame you, i’ve been here before, haven’t i, sweetheart? it's always like this, yearning for something that was too far to reach for someone like me to begin with, chasing after you like the last sip in a bottle already empty. one last time, you'll have to admit it, i'll be the only one that would go to the length to pretend that i don't know of your sins, because i'm the only one insignificant enough to let you use my skin to bury secret so far underneath, right? because you know, and i know, i'll settle you down. and they would damn me for it, but it's okay, you don't need to do anything. so be it, i am the last ember of a cigarette, fading into the bitterness of spent dreams, a fleeting high that scorches my veins as i sink into the haze of cheap shots and numbing drugs. under the lime glow of well spent nights, i would still question whether i deserve this, whatever the fuck this is, all i know is that it's a slow way of self-harming and i'm bringing you into the shadows where desire and regret entwine. each touch becomes a scar, a gentle reminder that whispers secrets of said hypocritical whore. in the quiet reflection of my own eyes, that you seem to love so much, doubt tiptoes in; “am i truly so worthless, so disposable, so insignificant that i would just let it stain my body with the residue of unspoken closure?” yet i'm not brave enough to voice it out as it stuck on the back of my throat, a familiar feeling as my head bopping to the feels, the thought lingers like the aftertaste of smoke and stale liquor, easing in like a freshly made cut, a subtle, unspoken denial that melds with the denial of not wanting to acknowledge it yet grieving for something that doesn't even have an end, and an eternal void, haunting every moment with the tendencies of hurting relentless, piercing my heart and soul so bold, ending it with empty vase of a human - all skin and bones, drained blood and soul.