She never said she was sorry,
And worse still,
She never knew that she had done anything wrong.
For while those ridiculously red lips of hers
Were biting viciously on the stale red rubber
She called Twizzlers,
I was pouring instant coffee into that mug,
The one she tried to paint the solar system on.
She gave up though when she realised only 6 planets would fit
and smeared that mug,
Handle and all,
In black paint.
I know it was fired at the ceramic shop,
The paint made dry as lips in late November,
Yet every time I dare to stomach a sip
Of my once warming brew,
My mouth is dyed darker than
a night that has never known stars.