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Assumptions.
Snobs.
Lies.
Selfishness.
Hurt feelings.
Inconvenience.
Loneliness.
Missing numbers.
Complicated combinations.
Cold chairs.
Hated peers.
Bad food.
"ur mom" jokes.
Posters.
Flyers.
Suicides and murder.
Drama.
Pet names.
Pet peeves.
Third wheels.
Double crossers.
Misunderstandings.
Promises.
Broken promises.
Cliques.
Clubs.
Clicks.
Labels.
Et cetera.
Et cetera.

Through good, bad, just and unjust, this is high school.
May your undies untwist.

Once upon a ******** time,
I had your trust,
And you had mine.
But lie after lie,
It came undone.
Sooner than we'd seen it,
A monster I'd become.

Between tainted lands,
And blackened, bloody,
Reddened hands,
Curl after curl of love unfurled.
Before our very eyes,
We parted with the world.

"I love you" can't be said.
And with it all figured out,
I'll just lie around in bed.
Mother, feline, book and friend,
All for not when you reach...

The End.

I want to be a Reaper. Yes, like Rube and George from Dead Like Me.
Not just because Mason is hot, or because it's a fun show, because I
think as a dead girl in the afterlife, sticking around souly for the
purpose of taking souls from people before or soon after they die has
something more to it. More of a purpose, I mean.

I'm living. But I'm not doing a damn thing for the world. I'm not saving
anyone or doing anything worthwhile. I'm just here, living for the
moment. Just as most of us are doing. Sure, we'll do something for one
another every once in a while, but all in all it's really no good. Nothing
any of us do is any ******** good. I'm not saying that living isn't good--
It's the best I've seen, since I don't know what being dead is like--I'm
just saying that none of us do anything. Okay, some of us do something
worth while. You know, the three percent of the population. Like that guy
that cured polio, and the one who created the artificial heart. And the
guy who has yet to cure cancer, or find a cure for AIDs. They've saved a
lot of people, which I know is more than any of you can say, be it indirectly
or not indirectly. I mean, what have you done? Sure, you may or may not
have saved a friend from killing themself, but that's only one life. And one
life in comparison to the six billion people on this planet isn't anything
special. There are people that do good things, but face it, majority always
wins. The majority is also very often stupid.

Taking souls... That seems nice. It's pretty much popping the soul and
waiting around for them to die, but still. You're saving them from pain,
right? The soul is gone before the body is dead, hence no pain. That's
doing something. Besides, we all die eventually. If it would be posible
to make Death a little bit more of a pleasant experiance, then great, I
want to help. And while it wouldn't be much, at least I'd be doing
something proactive. Better undead and taking souls then dead and
not taking souls. That's about as much as a dead person could do for
the world, right?

And now I'd love to talk to you about my views and ideas on the after
life itself, and who knows, maybe even religion. But they are my ideas.
And sometimes ideas are hard to talk about with other people, because
they always have ideas of their own. Ideas that get in the way of yours
when you try to express them. Like a needy younger sister desperate
to get all the attention your friends give you.

Look around you!
Can't you see?!
There's no finger, no hand,
Not a one that's pointing at me.

Such wasted...

Tragedy is meant to happen.
We are our own demise, that is our flaw.
But you said I didn't care.
Who percieved it, and who is to decide?
So is it my fault, is it my lack?

The nerve.

I didn't care. Are you sure?
Was it you, the one with his heart in the sand?
No no, couldn't be.
And yet, I look around and see...
Who cares?-- We can't go back.

You're the one lacking.

A gem in a jewelry shop.
That's what it was.
A white land, tainted,
And the sun don't shine no more.
It's all faded to black.

What a drag.

Look around you!
Can't you see?!
There's no finger, no hand,
Not a one that's pointing at me.

So here it is.
3:35 AM, November 21st 2006.
That date is gonna seem significant from now on.
I thought the 20th would be, and I was right.
More so than it had been the previous year.
I'm starving, I'm cold, I'm exhausted, and I can't do a thing about it.
I don't have a desire to move, I feel like sitting here, comatose.
This blanket is doing absolutely nothing.
I tried sleeping, no luck.

There are three roles in this to play:
Someone who knows why this is happening.
Someone who doesn't know, and never will.
Or, you could be the cause of all this.
These rolls aren't going to change.

Hands are shaking cold, right now, but I can manage with typing like an adrenaline junkie, and with the sounds from the keyboard well over eight decibels.
Anyways,
I've been crying. All night. Screaming before the front door when no one was home, scrathing at it like a dog wanting out. I did this periodically.
I did cheer up some, though, for a short while. For Maddie's sake.
"The Fin Approach. Be happy for the sake of those around you, and to shove it in the face of those being held responsible."
This Approach only lasted an hour.

I've been crying. All night.
I don't know why, but I felt like tasting the tears.
Salty. Like pickles.
Instantly, I thought of the pickle juice popsicles Kala, Patrick and I use to love when we were little.
That was a nice though.
Then, my thoughts went elsewhere. To Andrew White, who went by Pickles, and Anthony, who is still this day know as Mr. Pickles by some.
In came the plot line, and out of my mind went I at the very thought of Lucas.
Like a domino effect, sending tremor after tremor of violent convulsions.
But I got a though: Did it do me any good? I certainly would not be me.
And Chris, that stuck up b*****d from sixth grade? What about him?
And Emmons, with his hooded Minions? What did he do for me?
One things for sure. They're all dicks and they all made me stronger.
Simply put, I would not be me.
I would have none of the friends I have today.
There would be no Maddie because there would be no Kasen.
There would be no Lizzie because there would be no Haru.
There would be no Zach, no Dani, no Ben, not even a Josa.
Hell, Hannah may cease to exist.
No Tenshi, no IGS, no Quad, nothing.
So I have to thank the little pricks that made things hell. I just have to. I don't want to, but it's an inevitable fact.
Even this moment... I owe some thanks to it. Maybe me in a few months will see that.

Anyone who knows me well enough may realize that it was hardly me typing this. Me, physically, though not mentally, not emotioinally. I could never handle myself like this.
I don't know about you,
but for me this was an out of body experiance.

See you on the other side.

That's all it ever seems to be.
Back and forth, to and fro, heave and ho.
Go back to bed, forth to face another day.
To school, fro' home.
Heave a few times at the sight of a ho.

I'm sick of it. All the upping and dowing.
Some little wanker called me emo today.
There is little difference between emo and emotional today.
Doesn't emo mean little pussies in tight pants and hair over their eyes?
And I'm pretty sure emotional applies to all emotions. That's why they're called emotions. The good, the bad, the nonexistant.

People ask, "how are you today?"
I've narrowed it down to one of three things.
Surviving.
Living.
Thriving.

It's allways going to be one way or another.

There's nothing above,
And yet there's something below.
Just hundreds of worn down bricks,
Lined up neatly, row by row.
No sun in the sky,
Yet the streets are lit with an eery glow.
A sunrise, or a sunset?
That is the music playing, and that is all we know.
But up the hill goes, round and round,
Wall to the left, ocean to the right, and up, a sky of snow.

Then through the darkness,
Two lonely hands will clasp.
Until through the tunnel comes
A land so white that the darkness faded fast.
Not but a chair draped in ivy,
and someone urging you to sit with a gasp.
A crown placed on your head,
Leaving you aghast.
Until the stranger welcomes you,
"Welcome home at last."

Sooner than the darkness had faded
You made the place your own,
A garden and a forest,
A place to call your home.
And then there was that house,
A house for you, and you alone.
There was no sky,
But the sun, it shown,
and there were no clouds,
But skies rained and winds blown.

The one day, you wondered in,
Into that house that stuck out like the eye of a dove.
But you were lost so suddenly,
and you believed, and prayed to Gods above.
And after wondering hours on,
There was a secret to that house, of which you soon learned of.
There was that room, laced with plush and velvet,
A carpet, pillows, drapes hued mauve.
And in that room you sat,
Clinging to the one you love.

This Land of the White,
It's an odd place, you see,
Built purely on imagination,
and an escape from reality.
It's just a canvas, one for the mind,
for the ego and dreams to roam free.
A special kind of a place,
Where anything can be.
It may seem odd to you,
But it is home to me.