Remember Where It Began

I tell my story in the tone of a girl that could only be writing about herself.
The conversation I had with Liz inspired this, so thank you darling.

Oh, and then the words froze up in her throat. God, she was writing so much. So many things, but the romances turned into rape and knives and blood andoh fuck did he kill himself.

The pills she was popping, the drugs from her mother’s prescription bottles, the pretty orange cylinders on the bathroom shelf. They were becoming oh-so-apparent in her writing, oh-so-apparent in the way that her two created lovers were interacting, oh-so-apparent in the way that her tragic Greek god hero was constantly falling apart.