I bet that if I die, you’d spit on my face, already buried in a casket, while no one is watching, coward. You’d wake up the next day and wear all my clothes, smear my lipstick under your eyes, make believe you’re a rock star and drink all the water in my refrigerator. You’d step on my shoes, burn them, wanting to erase all the steps I ever took right before you did. I bet you’d tear all my pictures, go to church, light up a candle in the name of my soul and pray to God for me to burn in hell.

You’d slowly brush your hair with my toothbrush while you stare at your face in front of my favorite mirror, wondering where I am, and supposedly crying because you can’t see my face anymore…living every second of my inexistence.

Sitting on my chair and trying to fit into my pants, because the flowers that I used to buy every morning where always vibrant and yours always die…

You’ll never be me.