cigarettes & diamonds

I never wanted to be a sinner, but I never fit like a saint.

My edges are hard like rock and cold like ice that never melts.

I hear they call those 'diamonds'

but, darling, I'm not clear enough or valuable enough to fit your ring finger

(and I'm not going to let you take mine).

My bedtimes don't crash into yours,

but we crash and collide like minds that don't sleep,

and we smoke like wood that's too wet for burning.

But, boy, who said good girls can't light you like a cigarette?

I don't smoke like you do,

but I can light fires.

I may not fill your lungs with ash,

but the burn marks from my words 

hurts all the same.

My heart has stopped hearts,

and good hearts are good at biting into bad hearts

like poison apples.

Good girls eat poison apples.

Bad girls admit it.

We spit but we don't admit,

we just have rage playlists and cry playlists.

We count our calories, but they create marks in our hands,

yet here we are, and we still

 cut and cry and cut and cry.

We have our moments.

Oh, boy, do we have our moments.

We overdose on passed notes,

pencil marks and Valentine's Day's that didn't happen.

But boy, do we have our moments.

You like loose ends and untied tongues.

I like you.

You, without your trail of smoke and ashes,

the dollar signs on your bad habits.

I like you with your lungs clean and your eyes mean.

But you, you like loose ends and untied tongues.

You act like a knot,

but I see a noose.

And my neck is no stranger to your tight hands.

You like good girls.

You like cracking diamonds and lighting cigarettes.

And darling, those cigarettes will kill you.

Any good girl knows that.