put the
lights up
all on my
own
even though
they
would change
later
and
i
could see
forever
through my
window
but i
slept in
my car
that night
even though
it
was
winter
because
my room
was
definitely
haunted
cigarettes
that
felt like
sucking
a
boulder
through
a straw
because
she
wouldn’t like
that i
started
again
but they
burned
slowly
and i
hid them
in
a drawer
right
down the
hall
from me
and
you
showered
at my
place
once
and i
sat on
my couch
thinking
about it
but i
was a
much
different
person
back then
and
thank god
for that
wet hair
is
so
honest
you
may
as well
be
naked
a
slow burn
i
told
myself
but
slow burns
die
as
slowly
as they
ignite
and
before
i knew it
i was
him
and he
was i
but
you
were still
you and
thank god
for that
the
slow burn
is only
good
for
cigarette burns
now
g. watson is a poet and composer living in Miami, Florida. He enjoys French wine and Italian horror movies.
