Yesterday I wanted to be like you, glorious, dimpled and self-destructive

I bathed in your glow, and it burnt me a little, but you are dead you beautiful creature

You died in your sleep, and those curls betrayed you.

Today, I want candour

And as I smear my eyes with a black pencil, I want to time travel.

Instead, I skip a meal and poke my brain with a sharp pencil

Fail at fiction, and smoke a cigarette.