Burn

Amy Abbot was my best friend.
She was impulsive, viscous and manipulative, but she was my friend.

Amy died year two thousand four. She killed herself.

Her mother had been nagging at her, about the groups she was hanging out with, about the habits she was developing. I'd been Amy's base throughout her fall. But that one time, I couldn't catch her.

Her emotions had slipped through the cracks of my fingers, and I was forced to let go.
And, look at where I am now.

“rebel, rebel you've torn your dress,
rebel rebel, your face is a mess”