Will you come talk to me on my birthday?
You know it’s coming up soon. The time is marching onward, boot to strap to muddled rubber. We have no control where the heel stomps us.
All your friends and lovers detest me for my comely sins, the beautifully tragic ones I want to gleam at. They glisten white seconds from my dying light, pearled and round enough to suffocate on.

All your loved ones hate me, or dislike me, but you understand now, don’t you? How much I love you? I am not a bad person. I am a scared person. I am trying. I want you to trust me once more, because there is no me to stake without you to rib me in.
We don’t have to be the same people we were then, but we always will be by the acts we commit against ourselves. Ohhhh….oh, you can eat the towns, cities, countries, and continents…but you will be alone when you have too much to take half-heartedly. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please, be happy. Forgive me for what I cannot be. I can’t stop. “We were perfect.”