-NO matter how much I say, I can never seem to say enough for -- or me.
ALL these words and words and words entangled in my head. I do not want possession of them.
TAKE these effects -- have released to me.
DESTROYED and helpless, here I lay bleeding for --’s disposition. I’M apathetic of --’s reactions but yet I still crave and yearn for --.
sigh
MISUNDERSTOOD.
ASHAMED.
DISSIPATED.
TELL me -- still feel the same. TELL me what I want to hear and what -- want to say. TELL all to abdicate --.
HOLDING on a rope, lacerate me. DO -- feel the rapture too? DISPENSE the truth of “our” reality. TELL me.

(june 20, 2006)

So I had no idea where I was heading. The more I ran, the more it seemed to make sense though. Each step I took seemed to drown me in. I had to get away. But someone was calling my name. Who is it? Who’s there? I tried to turn around and see if I’d notice anyone or anything if possible but my own knowledge had threatened me that it was a bad idea to do so. As I reluctantly took in a breath, I slowed to a pace where it seemed I was almost invisible. My surroundings invited me and wasn’t disturbed. Where was I headed again? Was that music I heard in the background? Was it singing to me? I closed my eyes and turned around slowly, too scared to see with my eyes…

br

I had walked all the way down thestairways to visit Heeth’s locker. I grew bored of my friend’s company after-school. She was in class catching up with her homework as I roamed the hallways. As I walked down the stairs, I looked around as if I was lost. I was really looking for anyone I knew who also stayed after-school. Evidently, I didn’t see anyone though. Even though I was obviously bored, I skipped noisily down the steps as if I was enjoying myself. I turned the corner as I was digging into my school bag for my permanent marker and post-it notes.

I love leaving Heeth personal post-it notes in his lockers. And especially since he hadn’t stayed after-school, it’ll be the first thing he reads in the morning when he comes to school.

As I started on my way, I started to write notes for him. Just as I was writing “MISS YOU” I saw a boy and girl sitting in the hallway. The boy had a guitar in his hands strumming away while the girl was concentrating on a piece of paper. I had heard music playing from the background while I was walking but I didn’t think much of it. But now that I saw it was in front of me, I had a sudden urge to join the two, sit, and listen.

(continued)