Perfume Like a Loaded Gun
Her scent hit first—floral mixed with something darker, addictive
Like sin in a bottle, like the memory of sex that still leaves marks
I didn’t mean to breathe her in so deep,
but she stepped closer and I forgot how not to
Every inhale lit my brain like a fuse, nostrils full of want and warning
She wasn’t beautiful in the way poets lie—she
was beautiful in the way wolves stalk
And I wanted to be torn apart, just to smell that hunger while she did it
Perfume like a loaded gun—sweet, cold, and counting down
I wore her scent for hours after she left, like bruises without skin
It clung like consequence, like the echo of her thighs around my face
I’d smell her in elevors and nearly lose my mind
In crowds, I’d chase strangers just since their shampoo came close
I used to love freely—now I just sniff and ache
She left her hoodie in my car, and I buried my face in it like confession
I swear I came once just from a memory and the fucking scent of her wrists
She made lust chemical, made obsession a fragrance I couldn’t wash off
Even now, I find myself hunting her trail like a bloodhound in he
Her perfume broke me harder than her body ever did
And I’d drown in it again, fuck the cost—just one more breath, just one more fix
012 coming in next—dark gothic with intelligent humor. Say continue
and I’ll conjure something wicked with a smirk.
012. Dead Girls Never Ghost You
I met her a graveyard rave—lace corset, crooked grin, eyes like unpaid debt
Said she only des the living ironically, and I was just sober enough to qualify
Her tongue was colder than my last girlfriend’s soul and twice as honest
We made out behind a mausoleum, carved our titles in the headstone
She said, “I like you ‘cause you already look half-dead,” I said,
“I’ve been practicing”
And when she bit my neck, I came slightly and died slightly,
not sure where order
Dead girls never ghost you—they haunt proper
They moan night, but it’s usually your title
And when they say “forever,” they actually fucking mean it
Took her home, but she preferred coffins—slept curled in my bathtub instead
She left cryptic poems in my fridge and stole all my warmest hoodies
My c loves her, which is weird, ‘cause he hes everything that isn’t tuna or San
My ex texted “U up?” and I showed my ghost—she deleted her own number in fear
We don’t argue—she just flickers the lights ‘til I apologize
And honestly, I like that better than screaming mches with the living
She’ll never age, never che, never ask me to go to brunch
Just whispers filth in Lin and drips ectoplasm when she’s horny
Love’s a grave thing, but at at least I finally found someone
who stays dead loyal
013 next—loss or apocalypse. Got a funeral dirge laced in
flames coming. Say continue and I’ll pull back the veil.
013. The Sky Cried Smoke First