Summer Home

I think you've ruined me

in a way that doesn't quite hurt

as much as it suffocates sweetly.

There's something about

looking back on everything you've said

and finally seeing each lie

as they scraped your bottom lip

on the way out.

I think I was addicted

to the taste of your blood

when I kissed you.

It seemed to mingle well

with my tears

and stained my lips just enough

to mark your territory

as the summer home

that seemed more fun

when you were younger.