Apr 21, 2016
I give myself five days to forget you. On the first day I rust. On the second I wilt. On the third day I sit with friends but I think about your tongue. I clean my room on the fourth day. I clean my body on the fourth day. I try to replace your scent on the fourth day. The fifth day, I adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate. A wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold. The midas of cheap metal. Tinsel in the middle of summer. Crevice glitter, two days after the party. I glow the way unwanted things do, a neon sign that reads:Come, I still taste like someone else’s mouth.
Warsan Shire, “Residue” (via fleurishes)
