We were fifteen
Writing stories in our skin with long nails and steak knives
Girls in my friend group would starve themselves for fun
My girlfriend used to tell me that she overdosed
Just to see how I would react

Sometimes I’m surprised we’re all still living
Maybe not alive but not dead either
I still spend most of my nights crying
Growing up is funny like that

At twenty I question how any of us made it through highschool
My old friends survive off of little pink pills and Smirnoff
You could drink ***** out of their collar bones
I can see the sadness in their bones, visible through translucent skin
How were we better off at fifteen

I still can’t smell blood without wanting to throw up
Jagged skin makes me nostalgic for a love I never should’ve had
Whenever I see a tombstone I think of him

At seventeen a teacher asked what I wanted to be
How badly I wanted to say happy
I never imagined I’d make it past eighteen