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Brattiness. Being good at everything you do. Lazy smiles. Cold sweat. Piles of unread books, but someday he’ll get around to it. Someday. (When I come back to you). A bird flying by and knowing you’ll never see them again. Everything feeling like a dream. The last time. A piano rotting in the corner. Skipping school. Bitterness you know you should let go of but won’t. Regrets. Bruises that look more like birthmarks. Shattered glass bottles. Diamonds. Consequences. Buying flowers for the funeral. A method in his madness. Cardigans and pullovers, sweaters and long sleeves. Hating your birthday. Being okay when you’re not. Excuses. Suicide letters. An arsenal of pills. Closing your eyes in ecstasy. Shades of blue. In cigarette smoke, on jewelry, under the razor. Being disqualified. Not giving a single fuck. Almost is never enough. Apathy. Cool, winter tones. The first one to leave the party. Quoting literature. The bandages getting tighter with each passing year. (Tell me how you kissed me gently). Procrastination. Nightmares. Writing something in a rush and hating it after rereading. Charm as a weapon. Rain. Bad drafts. Always being cold. Sex just to feel something. Black days, and sky gray, and clouds full of fear. Text messages at 4 AM. Dissociation. Whiskey and bullet holes. Philosophy. Being too smart for your own good. Daddy issues. Being in love with life but wishing you never had yours. Laughing for someone else’s sake. Rejection letters. Angels. Fainting in the shower. I’ll be good, I promise. Painkillers. Misbehavior. Coffee in the morning, afternoon, and night. Insomnia. Poetry. Not coming home. Catching things other people don’t. Cruelty being a comfort. Shakespeare plays. Why do you write like you’re running out of time? Cotton on skin. Teasing. (Odyssey. Moonshine voyage). Tracing scars with your fingertip. Powder dissolving on your tongue. Magic tricks. Nausea. Not following the rules. Sparrows. Heels clacking on a marble floor. Layers. Bad at love. Simultaneously the best and worst person you’ve ever met. The setting sun. You were good to me. A distracted chaos. Dust. Decadence. Drowning your sorrows. Suffering quietly. A crumpled coat lying on the floor. Shamelessness. Memorization. Five more minutes, yeah? Pretty handwriting. Relapsing. Stomachaches. Dying but you have to get back up the next morning. Thinking you’re better than everyone but still hating yourself. Visiting a grave. Eye of the storm. Invisible nooses. White suit, black heart. Having no one. Still loving them even if you chose to cross the street to avoid saying hello. Listening to the same songs over and over again. Tragedies and romances. Humming to yourself. Cute and creepy. Poison but tasty. (I believe I will see you again). Nostalgia for a childhood you never had. A broken clock. A chilly bathtub. Insincerity. The beautiful and damned. Seeing your ribcage under your skin. Feeling like there’s a ghost in your bed. Loving and hating hospitals. Manipulation. Sleeping alone. Haunted churches. Solving everyone’s problems but your own. Winning effortlessly but still feeling defeated. Crackling mushrooms. Opening a window and staring down at the street below. Veins. Penniless bachelors. Nobody understanding. Good at goodbyes. Letting yourself be selfish. Dreading every meal. Feeling like a burden. Knowing how to use your tongue. A paralyzing sorrow you hope will go away someday. (When I come back to you). Being friends with everyone but no one’s friends with you. Numbness. Biting your lip. Thrift shops. Never returning the favor. Knowing you’ve won. Never letting anyone in. Always being late. A bottomless darkness. No moral compass. Remembering everything. Looking in the mirror and not knowing what to think. Getting used to it. Not having any photographs of them. Loneliness. Unexpectedly good advice. Bookshelves swollen, but stomach empty. Unspoken apologies. Thoughts swimming past your eyes. Unhappiness. Keeping secrets. Wanting to worship something but never knowing what. (Let me know how much you missed me). Guilt. Brown eyes turning black. Long legs draped over sofas. Sweetness that makes you sick. Hands. Tilting your chin up. Enjoying this fleeting world. Precious porcelain. Running out of time. Not knowing what’s wrong. Chronic pain. Knowing too much. Waiting too long. A sinful vocabulary. Telling yourself you can live without it. People-watching. Injections that don’t hurt anymore. Aimless walking around an empty museum. No one noticing if you’re gone. Bad driving. City lights. Methodically listing everything that’s wrong with you. Hearing screaming muffled behind closed doors. Wilted roses. Biting into an apple and realizing it’s gone bad. Pressed flowers. Bell jars. Being a creature of the light that never fails to cast a shadow. Not knowing what you’re doing but trying anyway. Cherries. Canned crab. Cup noodles. Hold on, I still want you. (Odyssey. Moon-shine voyage). Lying as a second language. Ashes. Praying. Drinks you never finish. Checking the obituaries and seeing a familiar face. Fucked up anecdotes. Shitty sleep schedules. The cafe bell tolling. Spilled paint. Atonement. Everything feeling so permanent, so much. The sweep of a pen tip on scratched paper. Using again. Deep chocolate. I don’t want to be you anymore. Having so much to say. Losing things you’ll never get back. Making them hate you. The kiss of paintbrush ends. Snow on your front door. Rocks at the bottom of a cliff. Doing what’s necessary. Heaven’s overrated. Blood being so beautiful. Wishing for something you know won’t come true. Long nails. Scarlet sky. Laughing at the sad parts. Essays. Champagne flutes. Scrap paper. Classical music. Mythology. The alcohol hitting after that first drink. Endless wandering. All-nighters. It’s sad but it’s true. Smirking. Feeling like you could tell him anything. Old libraries. Delirium. Manic typing on a keyboard. Forgetting how to cry. Everything stays, but it still changes. Not wanting to get out of bed. Better a broken heart than no heart at all. Matchsticks. Melting. To be or not to be, but it’s not your only question. Everybody loves the things you do. Faded constellations. Forgiveness. (I believe I will see you again). Attempts on eternity. The love that remains. Typewriters. I’m still here.