this room smells like alcohol
the foreign kind that lingered on his lips
that night that i kissed him (by accident)
that night that he hurt me (by accident)
his arms, protective, in the worst way
his hands, rough, in the wrong place
this room smells like alcohol
(i should've never tried the foreign kind)
and my mouth is dry
my stomach is sick
I'm going to throw up
(try to think of me and not him)
i wish this room smelled like alcohol
(not the foreign kind)
the kind that lingered on the bottom
of your icepop from your fridge
and the way you wrinkled your nose
at the taste of old vodka
i wish you were here.
YOU ARE READING
Gypsy
Poetrya poetry collection "Gypsy souls aren't meant to stay in one place; they're meant to wander. I got tired, bored, and depressed in the place that I was at. Change was the only option. So I packed up my soul in a suitcase and left."
