You are still the last person I kissed
And it's killing me, it's getting through cracks in my lips into my veins, flies through lungs to my heart and fills it with hope
But there can be no more hope, you are so lost that you turn any kind of hope into poison
I need to change the statistics, I need to get drunk and kiss someone, someone who's not you
So that when people would ask me "who was the last person you kissed?" I could bravely say "a boy from the bar, he tasted like tequila and cigarettes and his name started with a K" and not have difficulties breathing again when I have to say "it was the boy who has my heart in his pocket"