III

i keep finding myself digging my own grave 

i threw away the shovel so i can then move to spoons

to then kicking the dirt, to using bare hands

scraping to the bottom of the barrel 

to see my fate once again 

i yearn for pain 

im still recovering from the last time you put your hands on me

mixing his sweat and grime with my naive words and hopeless highs

i miss him so much 

you moved on from the orange hues and vomiting regret

but i didn't 

i miss him so much 

the constant uncertainty of your kisses and shared spit

i miss hurting so bad

im barely alive from last winter

but i keep snorting the last few lines

face first in snow for the last time