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Oh later, they'll look back and they'll say "This was the moment." Here it is, the evidence outlined- stories told by the rush of blood in veins and the cracks in the bones, the damage life did before it eventually killed, as it always does. But they'll be wrong as they usually are.

"Darling, didn't you know that life has an expiration date on it?"

It's written right here, in codes that no one can actually read, blood cells and bone cells and growth plates and neuron pathways. See it? Twisted smiles can't fix broken hearts and the explanations they'll hand you later won't hold anything, much less the weight of your grief.

So later, when they look back and say, "This was it, right here."- you must remember that they will be absolutely and unequivocally totally wrong.

see my heart it is cracked crackled crackling crippled crippling not quite criminal (yet) is misery a crime is knowledge a crime well if suicide is a sin then misery must be a crime. and if misery is a crime then humanity is a crime and existence is a crime and thought is a crime and feeling is a crime - it's confusing when you know that, dead or alive, you'll absolutely be doing the wrong thing.

later, yes, later they will look back, won't they, while staring themselves down in the mirror and smoking themselves dry (cancer never responded well to humidity, which is why tears are salty - we all know that there is more ocean than land). and they'll do what all the happy people do: say insignificant words and think insubstantial thoughts and do inconsiderate things. and lie. lie lie lie (down no they never lie (down) i will lie [down i want to lie (down) ] ). because the truth of the matter is:

happy people are not happy.
happy people are not.
happy people
are {?}
happy people
happy
not
people
are.
not.
happy.

oh i'm sorry, did i say "the truth of the matter"? because well, the actual truth of the matter is that there is no matter (according to their science all supposed matter - the money we destroy each other to make, the bodies we destroy ourselves to ruin better - is only light and air) and that there is no truth (except for what you choose to believe, and frankly honey, what's the point of believing?).

she broke herself to prove to you that everyone was broken on the inside
just like you believed you were
she slit her wrists but nothing welled-
no red blood accusing her of mistreatment
and no salt tears balancing on your makeup penciled eyelids

that was about the moment that she wished she hadn't gone so far for you.

but it was too too late then (it's always too late in hindsight, sweetheart, never forget that)

you told her you believed in her and she believed you

(this is why belief is so silly- what is there to back up nothing but words and in the end, words are just letters jumbled together and a letter by itself is only a piece of the alphabet which is only a system that humans made to make themselves better understood- See where the irony seeps through even now?)

Lies don't need language but well, this is where we stand. Or sit. Or lie. Lie like rugs, lie like dogs, lie lie lie again- lie down, lie up, lie sideways and under and over and away. Humanize the way nature works and lie for her too, create explanations that seem so realistic and reasonable they're embraced without questioning because in the end, all of it is worthless.

A cold cadaver on a cold metal cart in a cold empty stark metal shiny room and a small paper toe tag marked with inked on letters to scream out the last of a person.

We all come to naught-dreams and wishes and hopes and prayers.
That table holds organic matter that is only light and air (Remember, darling, their science).

Breath deep and let yourself shine because in the end that's all you'll be anyway.

shine like a light-bulb, 3000 watts and counting - no, honey, no, shine like the sun, bright and burning and beautiful and absolutely all-consuming.
didn't you know that beauty was all-consuming? oh yes, oh yes it is, a sneaky little demon bred in dark dank depressing dangerous deadly places by the glow of a strong light-bulb, so they pretend that that makes it all okay;
but us, yes, we know the truth. (if there is a truth to be known, to be believed/disbelieved/treated with utter indifference but look out, life isn't quite that easy, it'll be there anyway and it'll catch up with you sooner or later, ignoring your fears doesn't make them go away). we know that beauty is the most dangerous of murderers - and she kills slower than the time it would have taken for her to bleed herself to the bone.

much. much. slower.

so burn.

ruin yourself and everyone around you because we must treat others as we would wish (not that genie stories ever have happy endings, and if wishes were honey we wouldn't have any air left to breathe in so it's a good goddamn thing they never come true) to be treated _ fight fire with fire _ make the world as beautiful as you would want others to see it so that they will have reasons to keep on living/encircle the earth with a jet black blindfold and watch it all fall apart and vanish
into
thin
air.

oh but don't think about that part yet honey, that comes later. think short-term, that's all that human minds are good for anyway. nooks and crannies and quick solutions and lying naked and shaking on the dirty ground.
and see, this is why you must outshine them; so that you can die deprived of skin, salvation or sanity - so that you can die beautiful like you so desperately yearn to be.