Bad Habit

Chapter 1


i feel like i made a mistake somewhere along the way.

no, forget that. i know i made a mistake,
and instead of keeping my distance i got way too close for my own good.
my grandmother told me once that i have a habit of picking up bad pennies,
of picking the roses that wilted the fastest,
of befriending the people who ran like the wind when i broke down.
my friend's father sat me on his lap when i was seven,
and he was the first one to make me realise that i have too soft a heart to curse bad luck,
and i'm the kind of person who apologises to evil for being such a nuisance to it.

i'm not sure how exactly you managed it,
but you got me to open up to you,
and if you were smoke then i guess i was a bumble bee,
and i've never been able to put my mind at rest,
but your smile put me straight to sleep.
i was young and i was stupid and for some reason i thought my dreams might line up with yours,
and for a while they did,
but when i finally woke up i found that your hands had left ashes in my mouth and an empty honey comb beside my head,
with fire roaring through my lungs that i haven't gotten rid of since.

you devoured the best parts of me and wrecked whatever was left that i actually liked,
and i know you didn't do it on purpose, because let's face it,
you had hands that scarred everything you touched bred into your life like i had hatred bred into mine.
you snapped my wings before i could use them to chase after you,
and you ran away from your shipwrecks like any pirate would.
i have a bad habit of continuing to find you,
and you know that i won't fight you and you know that it would gut me to try.

i guess i've never really grasped the fact that when i handed you my future like a flower,
you forgot about it and left it to die.

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