Midnight Alchemist

You

Are licking honey,

and tasting drops of Sun.

Gold drips down my body,

Or when she’s rubbing her hands, picking on her skin and nail polish because anxiety is eating her from the inside.

Or when she’s crying about the smallest things.

Or when she’s overstimulated and can’t speak.

When she’s yelling at you because of her built up emotions.

and half-finished cigarettes.

Of dark coffee,

incents, crystals and divination.

Rich perfumes, tea leaves,

of heartache stitched into dreaming.

She was meant for thunderstorms,

for chaos and dancing around a fire.

Dark burgundy lipstick,

late night talks and rosé warming her throat.

And a copy of Lovecraft, Poe & her own grimoire,

she’s too afraid to let go.

She could be anything.

But no one told her,