Sometimes 
I can’t breathe
Because the thought of you isn’t oxygen
But some kind of toxic breath I can’t digest
You’re like a sickness
Hot and feverish, making me use words
I hate
Like the aforementioned ‘digest’ 
Or ‘love’
Which doesn’t exist
No, there’s only the whispering ache of your skin
Only the goosebumps on my neck
That raise when you speak of the future
Or of ‘we’
But I suppose, most of the time
I can’t breathe
Because you kissed me