Your voice was cracking, and you paused to clear your throat before asking, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I inhaled the green smoke and let it wrap around my ribcage, enveloping my mind and exiting the black hole behind my clenched teeth.
There was a smugness about you that crept beneath my skin and entwined itself to unknown chromosomes. And I hated you for it.
Yet you coughed up an apology that was owed me and I passed.
I was supposed to be stronger than our last hydro hit. But after all,
I’m just a girl with a dollar store smile.
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