Azula

Hatred
You can taste it on your tongue,
like black pepper beads,
snapping between sharp teeth.

A dull, numbing flavor-

It cooks slowly,
at a lukewarm temperature,
bleeding into a lonely broth.

It is an empty meal
on a hot plate that you claw into your mouth.

Again.

And Again.

And Again.

As you starve.

My story is ugly. My story is flawed.
My story is broken like the fragments of a poorly written lie.

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