lipstick stains on the wine glass
spattered with conversations stuttered.
she downs the whiskey
to numb the fear
and i can’t fault her.
we’ve been running for so long now
it’s hard to stop. i figure
it’s not enabling
if your fingers curl
and you’re catching smoke.
she wipes her lips with a napkin,
red nail polish reflecting
the candle flame that flickers.
shadows contrasting features
and her eyelashes glisten.
she is beautiful
the way honeysuckles in summer smell
the way a cool glass of water feels
sliding down a throat parched
we sit across each other
faux confidence emanating
the kind of conversations we read of
when we were thirteen.
i don’t mix my alcohol no more,
chasers fuck me up.
i like the pure high that comes
from ground sugar,
fine like the wrinkles in my hands.
we grew up the way we imagined;
wild fireflies lit up too bright,
flirting with desires that devoured us,
burnt our wings by flying
too close to heaven.
i thought hell was brimstone and fire
now i know.
hell is full of picture perfect memories,
two bright smiles and too little girls trapped
in versions of truth.