you smell like you wish you smelled like cigarettes,
you smell like my dirty brassy fingertips,
you smell like mold.
i'm not sure what you think you are,
but this is no forest;
darling, these are the suburbs
you've found yourself in.
and you stole the cinnamon and the nutmeg,
so i can't taste winter like hot coals anymore.
thank god it's nearly over.
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