• the desks are wood and the clothes are everywhere too many things for not enough space eyes here close and open at the strangest times lay down at ten wake up at two REM seems like a dream in itself there is never absence of music and light somebody within your radius is always wasting time for some reason, that pointlessness rubs off on you there is less need to be so productive facebook,myspace,stumbleupon internet galaxy, technology envelope thinking, crying seems so over rated the girl at home who died and you did not really know somehow seems less dead or maybe its just less sad you're not sure which the pieces of who you were when everybody knew you are transparent if you wanted you could fill them in take your words and explain them in sharpie colors "I'm not sure if you're aware, but i am a person who wants to make her life amazing" or you could just be a stranger float around in organized activities until somebody makes you come out of your shell and even then, you can always lie if there's enough you want to leave behind you'll erase even the parts that were crucial the idea of crying, because for me its not real life inside a white rich bubble big bold statement words have always kept me safe i have never known sorrow i have never known desperation i have never held on to a feeling for more than a moment where i swore that something was broken come back to me when the bruises are on the outside i want to see real bruises

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