when i remember you someday, i’ll think of fancy parties; your emerald-green cardigan, and that golden necklace i still have today. i’ll think of potpourri, and grilled cheese. because no one made it quite like you, did they?

i’ll think of rose gardens, and croquet. bony fingers, vintage clocks. cotton balls; blood on the bathroom floor.

i climb up this family tree, until i can’t see myself anymore. but it’s all right. because when i fall, i’ll land amid the wisteria. and your perfect red roses. scratch myself up pretty bad. but i always carry band-aids on me, just in case. so it’ll be okay. and i’ll learn from my mistakes. i’ll grow, and i’ll change, and i’ll probably make them again.

and if you could, i know you’d disapprove. shake your head, and scold me. because i put my elbows on the table, because i swore in my poetry. which is… kinda shitty. but i’ll get over it.

because i think this ends with me. this thick, sticky poison we’ve passed down through the centuries. i mean, we’ve hurt enough, haven’t we?