Every time I think
of all the people inside me that I've killed, 
the broken streetlights on my spine
howl the songs
of all the people I could have been
and my skin burns
with shades of my name.
Tears, 
the shade of amber
bloom on my wrists, 
till my whole body becomes a requiem
mourning the loss
of everything I have not the chance to be
and everyone
I did not have a chance to become.
~Rupali Jeganathan