Poison: cigarettes
He has disappearing fingertips like the touch of a snowflake,
and I'm losing my grasp onto the railing outside.
Falling into cold dewy grass, mother nature is warmer than him.
And, I'm slippery as ice.
s.d
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts Of An Alcoholic
Short StoryThe murmurings of an alcoholic in her expensive satin sheets of a boy she doesn't "love" {Various timed updates} /based off a true story/
