We laughed in metallic tints and stroked the silky edges if eternity with sticky baby fingertips. Your hair was cornsilk and shoulder length so I let my curls grow out and braided our strands together. We were made of two month “I love you's”, river beds and pebbles, garlic cloves, poetry, broken figurines and hand-me-down mattresses.
People watched and pined over the lustful purple of our cheeks as we suffocated each other with false perfection. You put chili in your scrambled eggs and hot chocolate while I slipped cream into my coffee. So we laughed at each others disgusted faces, popped another frozen skittle into our mouth and played another turn of Monopoly. You told me how you'd read that exotic dates lead to a longer relationship and my heart flushed with little girl fantasies.
But then your fingers hardened and your tongue was heavy and all I wanted was for your eyes to dilate like they used to when you looked at me. My mother cried and I winced when you pinched my waist in dissatisfaction.
I left when you tried to have everything.
But I still missed your scent and how my cheek felt that night that you had pressed your lips to it. So I played along and for sometime I managed to have it all. But then my reality check came. Blood ran down your fingertips and I vomited my heart and lungs into my hands so as not to feel the truth.
Skip some time and death knocks on the door to when you kissed my single lips and made me flinch at every blonde boy from then on.
And now, you say you're sorry and that you know we can't be anything. That you're thankful for me.

Boy I'm made of broken milk bottles, uneaten chocolate and arsenic candies. Tie me up in lace and I smile with cherry bombs for eyes.
Don't be thankful for me. All I do is break and smile when the tar drips through my teeth to my tongue – because it's a sweet sweet taste.