Pillows are my last resort. They are the only things that remotely resembles a human being in my possession. It smells like shampoo & forgotten conversations. Stop, they say. You're dying away, they say. They say too much, I say. & What if I do?, I say. I am invincible & tough & independent & cynical & proud. They laugh. Half-hearted people do not live half a life, they begin. Half-hearted people die. I am the (n)evergreen tree in the Christmas tree lot that no one wanted to take home. I am the proud pigeon who struts around downtown Manhattan, secretly wishing to be a dove. I am the girl standing barefoot on the threshold, watching the headlights fade into the horizon. The back of daddy's hand is pained. Pained of memories he tries to forget. Only when it's bloodstained. Though his heart's always upset. The back of daddy's hand is numb. Numb of all the beatings it's given before. Only when we give & take some. Though now I'm not there anymore. I don't mind at all, with this smile upon my deadly face.