a relapse
is like reheating coffee on the stove
hoping it tastes so stale
you won't want to drink it anymore
but even then, I
will pour it on my skin and
hate myself for days.
YOU ARE READING
opals
PoetryA gemstone made of a hundred different ones, a gemstone with fire inside. He never finished his cigarette, put it out on my palm. I became an opal. Flashes of red, pink, sweet petals of flesh. I will love myself as soon as I can learn to love the un...
