My Jessamine

Her touch felt like liquid acid
Hotter than a cold sun,
Colder than summer waters.
It burned my skin and melted my soul.
But nothing for her compared.
Every peck of a needle, to her,
Was sweeter than any poem
And softer than any kiss.
Any sip was warmer
Than any hug I could give.
My soul was a void that only she could fill,
As pure and white as her skin
That was water colored in deep blues and purples.
Now as dark as the blood that dripped
From her wrist, tainted with toxin.
No amount of pills could save her from herself.
And as I caressed her cheek,
I knew that my love wasn’t her antidote.