“mama, lay me down, i no longer want to be part of this loud world where people can kill bugs without worrying if tiny things have souls because mama i’ve been too small for my skin since i was born i’m sorry i know there are plenty of sunsets i should stick around to see but maybe those sunsets shouldn’t belong to me because i’ve been inhaling the sawdust from where all my selfhate has sanded me down into this little ocean of knots and oak, a treasure chest left empty, pandora’s box without hope, and mama i know i’ll make you cry if i go but i know i’ll cry instead if i stay and we both know i was always sort of selfish in every single way i’m sorry mama i’m sorry i don’t know what to say.”