Dear Marina
my first memory of you was when you taught me first aid years of wounds, you said, had made you learn how to fix things. you taught me bandages, quick fixes, how to constrict my life and my pain with a tourniquet of lies and half-empty glasses of bleach. but we were there, we always were with outpours of love and you were all take and no give, we could never fill you up: never enough support, legs too weak to stand on and one day, you fell. my dearest marina, where have you gone?
nobody remembers when you arrived, and we will never be aware of the reason for your departure. all we know is that one moment you were everywhere, with pictures of pastel beauty and sugar-bleeding wrists all over your wall: and the next you were 404, gone, blown onto the street with the winter snow. my dearest marina, where have you gone?
but we went on, we found new idols after all, there are a million girls out there who bleed sugar but the fact that you did it, you drank the poison and kicked the bucket: or so it was written, on a 2:39am message allegedly from your sister, will always be a burgundy cloud over our heads. and sometimes, someone will look up from their razors and ask: my dearest marina, where have you gone?
There's actually a story behind this one. Lauren and Mikayla were real girls, but I only knew Marina online. She was super soft-grunge, always posting pictures of her bloody wrists and all that. But one day, she said she was going to kill herself on a certian date— I wake up that day, and her account is gone. 404. MIA. I got rid of my account later on, but it's still creepy to think about what happened to her. She'd be twenty-one now, by my math.