A scatter. A whiff. An omen. If I call it bad luck, that is what I will attract. So I sit and cry to the universe about being a lucky magnet. The universe listens. It tells me what to do, shows me the right way by closing doors I expected to stay open. The thunder roars in, it's closer than ever. This sinking anxiety of knowing I may be lonely forever. Not a single person on earth, who can count the beats of my heart and create a lifetime painting of me, of them, of us. Not a single person who can love me with no ill intentions. If I can fuck up twice, what's stopping me next? If I'm the one to blame for every broken mirror How can I deny that to my missing reflection? I sit under my tent, under a blanket of warmth. I watch all my friends move on like beautiful shooting stars. I am not who I want to be, I do not want to be who I am. My body shivers under the fan that I have turned on. My eyes adjust to the bright screens and I forget to blink. It's all lost. My creativity. My peace. My personality. I hope one day I'll heal, and create masterpieces I can be proud of. I await my next chapter. It will be better, because when you are rock bottom, you can only go up. Even dead fish float to the surface. Even withered flower petals fly through the wind. Even buried bodies push their souls to the sky. So when the windows are tinted and the chairs stick to the floor, When the bed sinks your body and the mirror lies to you, You remind yourself to move. Little by little, maybe wiggle a toe. Run to the next room, run high then low. You are who you make yourself, no version of you should be shamed. Stop discrediting your bad phase. You are here because you were once there. I want to be who I am.