Short skirt bubblegum blonde. High school sweetheart type, but none of the starry-eyed boys following her could save her that night. She should have been more careful. Just because the road is clear doesn't mean you won't get hurt. She shouldn't have had alcohol on her breath. The average white bread high school mourned her the next day. But she hadn't died. The idol was only in the hospital. Her boyfriend missed her the most. He remembered how she felt outside. Smooth skin, whole body firm, yet soft. Silky hair. Warm lips. Curves. The doctor saw it differently.

She was splayed out on the operating table. She was no longer warm, no longer smooth. Her curves were cut. Her skin was torn apart. And she was stained red. Her body wasn't perfect, her body was no more. The doctor felt her through latex gloves. Her innards felt limp, wet, loosing life. She felt like she was dying.

When she came back to school, the teenage princess was looked at. Until she realized that she was being looked through. Now a nobody with no body. Beauty is only skin deep. All you can feel under that skin is flesh and blood.

Roaming around, downtown sunset. Disoriented and wanting dinner. Didn't know what street we were on, didn't really care. I was with the two guys, rough and tumble but softer inside. I took long steps to match their pace. "Why are you walking so fast?" "Only to keep up" I said. "It's not too bad" I said. I never told them how tired I was.

We walked some more. It got cooler. We got hungrier. And the further we went, the more sketch the neighborhood got. "Stay between us" they said. "Hell no" I replied. And they moved so I was in the middle anyway. I am fragile. I look like a child. I am a girl. I am decent prey.

We got dinner. They stayed by my side. Life shouldn't be this way.

A girl wants to walk home at dusk by herself. The world is not ideal.

The cops don't always get the robbers. Life doesn't work that way. They did catch the crooks this time though. Red Camaro, 4:47 am, headed north. Trunk full of two things- money and drugs. It wasn't a high speed chase or anything. Just two tipsy hotheads on a free road. After 24 miles, it wasn't free. A melody came along, brash, crashing. Snuck through the Camaro's rolled down windows. Sirens. A red-blue twostep light show flared up on the cops' cars. But these criminals were having none of it. On they went. Miles, miles, the two didn't know how far they would have to go. The two didn't know how far they had come. Very far, they had gone very far. Too much. The stretch of road seemed much shorter than it was. On top of the world with cash and drugs, pistol in the glove compartment, and a bottle of confidence in hand. They didn't see the empty tank. They got caught. Reckless.

I always told her that cigarettes would get the best of her.

We'd sit on the bench after school, talking about nothing, thinking about everything. She'd have her cigarette, I'd have a 7-Up. We'd strut around at dusk, better than everyone, queens of the streets in a way. She was a girl who could hold the weight of the world on her back, and still carry the groceries home. And she'd take a light before each walk. Mornings too, a frozen waffle and a hot cigarette.

She lit it tonight. She never used matches, always a red hot BIC lighter. She wouldn't have any other colour. Superstition of sorts I guess. Her superstition was right in a way, I guess. She died tonight. The lighter was blue. I don't know what I expected. I knew smoking would put her out someday. Not like this.

Are there cigarettes in heaven?

She called me Jekyll; she called me Hyde.

Unfair, unfair- who's to judge?

She thinks I'm crazy, I know I'm insane.

Sounds like laughter

Sounds like complaint

Depends on the day

Depends on the second.

Twisted like rope.

She said summer sun; she said winter glaze.

Unfair, unfair- who's to judge?

Pure as a saint, but a sinner for sure.

Sounds like birdsong

Sounds like sex

Depends on the night

Depends on the hour.

I always want another bite.

She told me I'm one way, two ways

Too many ways.

One for one person

One for the other.

Everyone has a different version

Of my ill self.

I talk too fast when I'm excited. Sparks go off in my head, time doesn't matter anymore. Everything I think spills out, muddled, jumbled, incomprehensible. My thoughts are too fast, my body is too slow. Only you can keep up. Quick on your feet, faster in the head. You can catch every word, take them out of my mouth. I savor every word that comes out of yours. I don't remember much; I never try to remember much. Unuseful things are boring, go in one ear and out the other. But you say the most unusual things, so I hear every word.

I've been writing in white lately. You know how you can type in white on google docs and whatnot, on a white page, and can only see the words if you highlight over the writing? Yes, that's what it's like when you speak in white. White noise. If the words don't matter, why say anything? The only reason to speak is if something strikes a chord, if someone strikes your chord. No reason to speak at home if nobody listens to listen. No reason to write unless the right people read.

Best meal: The Hungry Fox. Good price, good service, good atmosphere, terrible embarrassment. Breakfast place, happy place. But ah, yes, the sixteenth birthday. Breakfast there for my sixteenth birthday. A rare eat out, but just this once, delicious food in the morning. We walked into the place, had to wait for a table- whole place filled with all kinds of people, but all of them happy. Hostess content too, sitting behind a clean counter and a cash register. It was me, mom, and little sis coming in, she was a good greet. Until she offered two kids menus and an adult. I got crayons. Sixteenth birthday crayons... I know I'm short, and got a face like an elementary school kid, but wow... Sixteenth birthday... But still... one of the best restaurants in town. Drive past it every day to school, wonder if the lady is still there.

I was scammed people!

Ripped of my pride!

The pep rally- damn it all.

I wanted a book to preoccupy myself.

I had 3 minutes to pick one.

"Kant in 90 minutes" I chose.

It took me 35 minutes 27 seconds.

I timed it.

Sad thing was-

I actually learned something.

It was a really helpful book.

It started with the girl, the dagger, the water.

She cried, fully clothed.

She was happy,

About to be released.

I saw her again.

The water was higher.

The dagger was closer.

It was a haunting dream.

Enchanting, but haunting.

An embodiment of my stage fright maybe.

Too scared under the spotlight.

I was never able to finish my performance.

Is life too long or too short?

Her city is my haven.

I go there the nights where I can't breathe.