There was poison in her tears and poison on her lips. Kisses that were supposed to flood her with dopamine instead made her bones ache.

His fingertips left bullet holes and his voice in her ear felt like decay. There were no words to properly describe the crawling under her skin when someone said his name.

And that’s when blood fused liquor and hurt and torment day after day. A poison brewed in her virgin heart and turned the sweet half straight to stone.

So she was immune and she knew it, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a fade from life to death, from any old quiet night slowly into judgement day.

And the poison on her lips and the poison in her veins could never pass for innocence again. The ache cracks her spine instead and everyone turns to stare.

Pearly gates and light too bright, and she only wants to turn around. The poison in her tears may sting, but without it she’d surely starve.


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