i… i’ve seen death happen before me. i’m scared. i want cigarettes and white walls back. i miss the lick of a flame against my skin. now i’m numb. my palms are faced up, waiting for something to fall into them. words fail me. i was beautiful once when different perspectives were treasured. now, like my mother’s mother, and my mother, i matter least. there is a gnawing feeling in my chest and a tug at my heart begging me to be gone. so i must.
