one morning in January, i stole my father’s cigarettes, went out for a smoke, and never came back. i went to lie down in the woods and the sunlight glimpsed through the branches to leave me rotting. so many times i’ve died alone, in my bed, amongst my thoughts fragmented. but even death isn’t long enough of rest for a girl as tired as me. so i let the snow swallow me. i gave it my body out of charity and when the wolves came to devour my flesh was when i found out what it feels like to be adored. i fell asleep in the white coloured stars. i sat there and watched myself take lethargy to my grave. three nights later, i was the prettiest girl in the morgue. i had hands all over me and tears like bubble wrap around my body. the other tired children loved me and finally, i was asleep. brutally soft and silently preaching everlasting rest; i was death in her greatest form. and finally, i was asleep.
Romee S.G is a writer from Canada. Her writing is sometimes a religious cry for love, death, and peace.