Mom, can you breathe me back to life?
Can you love me and feed me with rice milk again?
I miss you.
I can tell you all about how rain feels on my skin.
How when the sun shines on me makes my cold sweat looks like little diamonds.
I think I finally get it. Cigarettes are not a proper dinner. Nor is coffee a proper breakfast.
Diamonds on my skin are not precious.
Just wrap me up and tuck me in your pocket.
I promise I will not get your clothes wet.
Just. Don’t. Let. Me. Slip.