My father spoke words that burned holes inside my chest,
like the way that the sound of your voice would set fire to the dandelions that grew inside my lungs,

Whenever your breath entered my bleeding mouth.

You had stars sleeping inside your veins and your hair always smelled of honey but your hands never felt like home.

The last boy I let in left me wishing I had never met you
His tongue tasted of whiskey and every time he touched my neck it reminded me of all the bruises I still have sitting on my soul from where you left your words, and how my bones still don’t fit right inside my body.

I swallowed a bottle of wine and let it soak into my missing pieces, I fell asleep on the bathroom floor with the taste of your  chapstick tattooed beneath my tongue.

I wonder if when she kisses you she tastes the flowers I left inside your mouth,
I wonder if she tastes the constellations I left In you.

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