I'm trying to cease the disquietude in my mind.
I get a million half-thoughts, but the only whole one is you.
I started it again; I can begin to smell it,
what "are you okay?" feels like.
I don't want to smell the acid of the fire last night.
Deep inside it smells sickeningly sweet.
You left it with me and I'll smell like you tonight
but when you wake up next morning,
my name's not the first on your mind.
Tomorrow morning, as I promised myself, I'll get rid of this vice.