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Never forget, never forget how you made him feel, never forget the songs he introduced you to, never forget how you were the reason he was hospitalised, never forget how you left him and chose addiction instead. Never forget how you chose rolled tobacco and bloodied sharpener blades over him, how you left him when he needed you most. Never forget you were the idiot he was referring to when he said he doesn’t speak to any of his old friends anymore. Never forget how you see him in every lyric you listen to. Never forget all the nicknames and inside jokes you had. None of this would have happened if you grew up and stayed. You will forever wait for your last breath how he waited for you to come back; aimless clocks ticking in a white hospital room and hooked up to various machines. You’ve missed that window and there’s no possible chance of coming back. Your mistakes will haunt you in old Bowie songs. Your mistakes will haunt you in stupid, explicit nicknames. Your mistakes will haunt you when you hear his name in a cartoon. Your mistakes will haunt you in screenshots of nonsensical midnight talks. Your mistakes will haunt you every time you visit that park with no one to complain to. Your mistakes will haunt you every time the clock strikes eight. Your mistakes will haunt you when you get lonely, but never as lonely as he was without you. Your mistakes will haunt you whenever you’re enjoying life and everything is good until you realise his was horrible because of you. Your mistakes will haunt you through a playlist you created for the day you finally put your soul to rest. Your mistakes will haunt you on the unsent project. Your mistakes will haunt you on unopened discord messages where you told him plans of your day because he doesn’t care anymore. Your mistakes will haunt you when you realise for him to heal he has to let you go. Your mistakes will haunt you when he heals and you are twelve feet deep: whether it be in a grave or an addiction. Your mistakes will eat and gnaw at the endless space a doctor would call a heart, and it’ll keep eating at it in a way you’ll have to live with until that blade finally hits too deep. Your mistakes will eat and gnaw at your wrists until you finally lose consciousness, your last few memories being of a boy you planned for your kids to call their uncle. Your mistakes will eat and gnaw at your brain within that coffin in a way no maggot can. Your mistakes will eat and gnaw in a way unfamiliar to you because you were too busy starving yourself over the sheer guilt. There’s no help for a being as pathetic as you were on the 21st of June. You will spend the rest of eternity damned to exhaust your tear ducts until your eyes forcibly close, damned to starve yourself under the guise of fasting, damned to be unable to listen to any song from the 70s and 80s, damned to be unable to make any true friends, damned to be guilt ridden for the rest of your short years. I’ll wish you a happy birthday, but don’t you ever dare forget.