remember when your doctor said something like he could perform a tracheotomy with a pen, and you really went to him? do you have a deathwish, kid? no, you won't be all alone, you're too young for that. no, really, 

you're too young for that. why else can't you help but feel dissociated every time you "sleep over" at the hospital, the place you missed when your vision bounced off the your bedroom, the walls bordered by vintage pastel teddy bears, or light pouncing, like a memory in punchdownpink? the place where there isn't night, so there isn't a reason to be afraid. 

wait, really, that's it? your mother's there, though, starkserious as night. she knows you carved your body with safety scissors to be here. like, what's a little more pain after all, right? but what happens when the wound closes, when you survive?