Good morning, Mr. Business.

I can't remember the last time I held a song close to me. 

I can't remember the last time I laughed at nothing. 

I can't remember many things. 

I feel tired.

My bones feel like stones, 

or maybe like twigs? 

I don't know.

"Don't let you inner child die," my mama said one day.

I teared up.

How could I explain to her that I was already dead?

I don't say it to be angsty, 

Neither for teenage rebellion. 

I can't remember the last time I read a book with a happy ending.

Or the last time I didn't cry myself to sleep.  

"Death and Rebirth," 

My English teacher once said. 

I can't remember when I died.

I wondered if I can wrap myself into a cacoon and sleep

Or if I can sew on a pair of functional wings to my back. 

"When did you stop being a child?"

My tongue feels like sandpaper. 

I'm afraid to ask her. 

Will she look at me with sad eyes? 

Will she dare to look at me? 

Maybe I stopped being a child when 

Princess and astronaut stopped being

Acceptable Answers.

Good morning, Mr. Business, how do you do?

Good afternoon, Mrs. Business, Glad to meet you too.

Now I can't remember who I am, or who I was. 

I think I stopped being a child

When I let my dreams fall apart like a goddamn sandcastle

Who cares?

I feel exnhausted.

Would you like to chew away my heart?