A body cradled in a nightly cocoon of blankets and self-loathing.

A contact list full of numbers in which calls go straight to voicemail.

An explosive cocktail of one part perfection and three parts depression, with an overdose of cheap coffee.

A personality of anti-anxiety pills and choked down insanity, with a side order of slit wrists.

An A+ on your history test, smudged with tears and smuggled *****.

A sleeping tablet.

A mind like a room with the blinds down for weeks, a smile like a gunshot in the darkness.

A broken tape recorder of one missed calls, of slammed doors, of smeared lipstick in front of a mirror sparking with tears.

A cigarette for every sin, a dollar for every broken dream.

A full wallet.

A brain like a twisted forest path, a sketchbook full of scratched pencil marks, a screaming teacher at the end of every class.

A daughter of the human manifestations of nine-to-five jobs with a pension scheme and insurance.

A carefully maintained vocabulary of whiplash sarcasm and blank stares.

A graduating member from a class of 'Congratulations on Getting the **** Over Yourself.'

*A bullet.