Lips aren’t for this much drinking

What is this?

This is such a dumb existence, really, when you think about it. I am here for you, never me. I heal the cracks in your lips, somehow. I don't understand it very well myself.

I am here for you, always. Sitting in the bottom of your purse, occasionally forgotten until I am needed.

I mean, the lips are nice, I suppose. You have nice lips.

But then again, I have no other frame of reference. You are the only person I have ever come in contact with. You are stingy about hygeine, so you'd never let anyone else so much as touch me.

You like to drink a little too much.

I am left in a cab one drunken night, alone in your purse. I want to yell to you that you forgot me, but I am merely a piece of plastic.

The purse falls to its side, and a bit later a man picks it up, gives it to the driver.

 I am put in a box.

You come to get me, eventually. Did you end up sleeping with that man from the cab? He seemed like a creep. I hope you didn't.

I am picked up, by you, and oh, here are the lips again. They are very chapped today. Returning to the status quo, I suppose.

Your phone drops next to me, with the screen announcing 3 new texts from Gabe, with 3 animal emojis and a heart eyes next to his name.

Oh, God. You're dating that loser, aren't you?

I sigh, as much as a tube of plastic with a waxy interior can sigh.

You better not throw me away anytime soon, honey. You need me.