i taste you, on my tongue. i taste us, on my tongue. i taste tragedy, on my tongue.
though i am surrounded by hundreds of people each day, i feel so completely isolated from the outside world. someone bigger must’ve put me in a jar in failing effort to save me.
i’ll pray to little orange bottles or stuffy waiting rooms if it meant you would just get better.
you touch me just right and change my definition of holy.
peace is white like my dress. i just wish my dress didn’t have those horrific blood stains.
is my smudged mascara, black mini skirt, bruised knees, red eyes, hungover state aesthetic enough for you?
i love our mundane conversations more than i hav ever loved any boy. that’s how i know we are something true.
why must i be so full of rage? i can only dream of peace.
if i watch you build a life with another woman, i will blind myself.