morning routine by Ivy Mullins
Take my eyes from their
spot on the night stand, glue them on my face, flinch in the mirror say sorry until I am sorry for saying sorry examine the damage, eight new freckles on cheeks, bruise on lip slowly fading, bags packed and ready to go under the sea of my blue eyes walk to the bathroom, wash the sleep from the corner of eyes is it still called sleep if you do not sleep anymore brush my teeth ‘til our last conversation no longer lingers on my tongue reminded of how long you used to take to brush your teeth making sure I couldn’t smell the night in your throat news flash I could always smell 23 shots missed call from your mother I do not pick up my phone blood is thicker than water but about the same consistency as liquor I do not tell anyone that you fell in love with someone else that her body is shaped like a whisky bottle that she is a whisky bottle I do not tell anyone else that her and I have a lot in common that we were both full when you met us that we are both empty now cut one of your veins and all that would pour out is spirits I cannot tell what is you and what is poison anymore moisturise my face tie my hair in a bun 27 unread messages start to put my make up on spill foundation on the carpet use vodka to get it out funny how good alcohol is at changing things. |
Ivy Mullins is a journalism student at QUT and co-owns the blog poisonandice.com. She is an avid lover of polka dots and a good book.
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