i started a collection inside of my ribcage of birds that tickled me pink and red and eventually blue. i lost enough blood to call it a suicide from withholding harmless animals so tightly in a confined space that there was only one way out. after that mishap, i started growing flowers and writing endless metaphors about you, describing how you make the stars dim out in embarrassment of itself and how benign your disposition was. you wonder why i watched the flowers wilt and why i wanted the stars to ultimately turn the sky into a deep asphalt color. you wonder why i couldn't breathe when i tried my hardest to be on your good side whenever you were at the top of the food chain and i was below you. looking at you made me see why i forgot to take care of myself, because all of my focus was trying to connect the dots of our friendship and bring peace between us again. my words, shaped into metaphors, turned into dust after i burned every evidence of you. i am tired of waking up in a hospital after a failed attempt to completely forget you for good.