Porcelain cup

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She pressed her lips against the porcelain cup,

Her parched skin slowly reviving at the warmth of the liquid,

A rich scent of lavender mixed with other unfamiliar herbs.

The tiny droplets entering her parted mouth,

The nauseating aroma making her light headed.

An acquired taste she thought.

 

Her dirty finger nails,

Reflecting on the whiteness of the cup,

Making an odd combination against the floral designs,

So ugly for something that’s beautiful.

So ill fitting for something that’s fragile.

It’s not for me she thought.

 

Her heart told her to stay,

Her mind told her to run,

Her gut wrenched from the mental dispute.

Still sipping on the undesirable concoction,

She stared at the wall,

I need to run away she thought.

 

And in that moment,

The porcelain cup fell from her hands,

Bouncing off the table and breaking into pieces,

The carpet greedily lapping at the pool of lavender formed.

She hastily got up on her feet,

Where do I go she thought?

 

Swaying back and forth,

Her right feet takes a step,

And unknowingly lands on the once porcelain cup,

The sharp edges cutting at her bare skin,

Numb and without pain.

I’m ready to disappear she thought.

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