Lazaruh

TW: suicide mention

I send my prayers to Lazaruh the snow angel. Her skin is so pristine and smooth as she whispers to me that the numbers aren't real. All of the digits, every fraction and percentage falls from her lips like a breath of warm air on a cold morning and I fall right into it. The numbers aren't real. It echoes behind my eyes. "I would lay my life on the line for them, but they're not real." And that's when I realize every true god is a suicidal teenage girl because Lazaruh cuts her own hair with school scissors in the theatre dressing room. She rots in her bed and takes walks late at night down unfamiliar streets and she designates every object in her room to one of her friends. She lays down in the snow while reading Stephen King and she writes fanfiction over her chemistry notes. Lazaruh lives and laughs just like me. She smiles and whispers, "the numbers aren't real," and I believe her like I believed the kid in the psych ward when they told me it would never get better; with every fiber of my being, I believed. The numbers aren't real. I fucking get it now. Make up your own gods. Create religions with the tip of a mechanical pencil then destroy them. The numbers aren't real. Lazaruh rained snow and wind like the fury of the gods unto me. She screamed in my face, "THE NUMBERS AREN'T REAL" and I sat in the backseat of my mom's car, soaked in snowflakes, and I didn't kill myself. Because the numbers aren't real, but Lazaruh is.