Antiseptic hospital rooms.
Breath with just a hint of whiskey.
Cologne and perfume of relatives you haven't seen in ten years.
Dozens of different flower bouquets in every room of your house.
Empty funeral homes.
Fried chicken breaded by you and your cousins.
Gas from craisins never eaten again.
Homemade dishes from sympathetic neighbors.
Ignorance toward death.
Jokes that aren't funny.
Kitschy friends.
Loose ends you can't tie up.
Mom crying for the first time in front of you.
Nosocomephobia.
Old sweaters and shirts that you cling to.
Pillows to muffle the screams.
Quick to self-blame.
Robes for your big graduation day.
Smoke carried by the wind in a big, empty world.
Turkey burning in a different house on thanksgiving.
Unmade beds that you do everything but sleep in.
Vomit from the night after's dinner.
Weed to forget your troubles.
XV.
Your old stuffed animals that you haven't touched in years.
"Zero excuses."
