Bring Me Flowers.

The results were finally on the table. Just like that, my life was on a time sheet, every minute was precious.
I cannot speak the words, it makes my stomach tumble and bile rise. Getting sick was the new fad. Nothing remains in my system, it always finds its way out. I said time was precious. I never imagined spending it hunched over the toilet.
It’s day and night when I brush my hair to see more stands fall out. It no longer terrifies me, nor does it make me weep at the clump that gathers in my comb. I catch myself wanting to keep it, collect it.
I throw it away.
My skin is stark white. I have bags under my eyes that are purple like bruises. I grow thinner than rails, the wind chills me to the core.
Apologies sound as they should, apologetic. Filled with sadness and tissues to dab the tears dry. Flowers arrive daily, but bouquets only remind me of my upcoming funeral.

I will be the star of the show.
Will the seats be sold out?

I don’t have much time left. I only have tonight left to triumph.

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