Smoke
Wearing that old jean shirt.
The one with the paint smudge.
Thinking of you.
Why I turned inside out.
My stomach hurts.
But my heart hurts more.
I think seeing happy couples makes me sick.
Or maybe it's just the nicotine.
Who knows.
Who knows enough about love,
To actually write about it.
I guess that's why I'm good at that.
I'm too naive to know better.
Too stupid to stop.
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