All my siblings are straightedge. Born knowing not to fly too close to the sun. Born knowing the doors we never should’ve opened because they would drag us further behind the wall. I was always the black sheep because I heard the voices and ran straight to them. There was never going to be any stopping me, and I’m jealous of the dropouts — the ones permanently filling the rooms of rehab facilities. I wish to taste what it’s like to be forgotten — to invert the cross — to hold the rose upside down before the fire.