This town              reeks of you,

You stick             to all my clothes,

All humid by                   our love;

You brine the             air by your

Salty tears,               the stench of how 

We were                so venomous,

Never really                   leaves this place;

This town             dreams of you,

In silver spoons              force fed all the lies,

Gentle hands                   but rough intentions,

Your tears washing             the inside of my thighs;

Rough cannot              be bruised,

Not as much skin                    To keep as much heart;

This town               has had enough of you,

Like heaven,               in all the wrong ways,

The pain,                  It demands to be felt;

My knees,              They shake,

My heart,                           It aches,

Both subjects              of our own distrust,

Burnt out flames             Should never reignite