Stress is like a dress made of weight.
It makes you hope that you aren't late or
It makes you worry you ******* Kate.

Everyone's life would be so much better without this pain.
Where are you Wayne!

It makes you want to take off your dress
of weights.

It makes you want to run ****.
But they will call you crude.
Even though they want the same.

Where are you Wayne.

It scares me. It scares me to think that at any point a kid tipped off the wrong may decide to use a gun instead of a brush and a school instead of a canvas to express their feelings. I don't want to become another drop of paint. I want to be able to go to school without worrying that that kid's gonna come and hurt me. Like a dog dead set on retrieving that bone I don't want to be in the way. But I guess I can't. You can't use metal detectors and police officers to see when a kids gonna snap. You can't stop them when all you have is your blunt pencil as a sword and your social studies textbook as a shield. They tell you to do this and that incase it happens but that doesn't stop them from slaughtering you like sheep. They say its just in case but that case is becoming more possible day by day and I don't want it to come! People joke about it but thats just to deflect the reality of the situation at hand. The reality that they can't be stopped when they are prepared to die, so i’ll say it again IT SCARES ME!

I'm living in a pale orange void of endless clock divisions and collisions of my mind and work. The clerk to this void tells me he's all out of tickets to a better life. So to deal with it I write in strife. Like a knife against my skin Im tossed into the bin that bin being school a place that's supposed to be a place of learning. But instead everyday the fire on my mind keeps burning fueled by the stress and the mess that is this establishment. And we don't get a single compliment. A compliment on how we all suffer through with our minds cracked and our spirits drowned. Im put to the ground forced to add up these numbers and remember these dates clean these plates and give up your fait. All to come up a success. But all we are at the end of the day is an uncontrollable mess. Oh the stress. Whos our voice? Do we even have a choice? A mix of lack of sleep and an entire keep of hormones that is what I am. Not a man or a boy. Im supposed to be a joy and greet my teachers. But I can't function enough to sit down on those bleachers or listen to those preachers. So I scream in my pale orange void of silence and stick with compliance.

Moods are like a spectrum. On one side its negative and on the other its positive. But sometimes you just can't use strict structured things such as a mathematical spectrum to describe something so free and wild. There isn't enough adjectives similes or metaphors to describe these complex creatures. When language was created it was made to convey these moods but using language to convey mood is like using a thermometer to tell what time it is. It just doesn't make sense.