splintered

I remember the days
when my own eyes scared me
bruised, dilated and punched
with mascara

The walls talked
of cigarette burns and vomit
while we talked of circles
and fucked-ness
like they were virtues
leaving ash trails down the plaster
as we stumbled through nights
un-lived
believing we were truly alive

Her face smeared the foundation
cracked mirror in hand
an audience of daylight
highlighting the drug-fucked droop
of her eyelids over her dinner-plate eyes
as her boyfriend leaned in
to fuck her mouth with his tongue
in front of our flinching sensibilities
that whispered displeasure
at the flagrantly inescapable PDA

And I sat there and looked down my sobriety
at her uncoordinated roll of movements
that left a splintered taste in my mouth
with the memory of my own
bruised and dilated eyes
bleeding with mascara and addiction

© Indie Adams 2014
8-9-14
30 Day Poetry Challenge Day 8