It's lunch time
And I'm in my math teachers' room
Writing godawful poetry
When I have a math test next period.
Our health class
Just watched a video about cyber-bullying
And the girl forgives her lying backstabbing ***** of a friend
I just called my friend
Who is absent
I called her twice
And she hung up twice
          Sixteen seconds
          Eleven seconds

I'm sitting in the library now
On a circular table
          Table for four.
I am one
But I always sit on a table with empty seats
So that I always know I am alone
This red ink looks darker in this lighting
A much more appealing shade
In comparison to how it looks in my bedroom

I'm thinking that I all I should be doing for the next few years of my life
Is math and music
          More of both

I'm really scared one of my friends will come and sit next to me  
I'm pretending the monsters from Six Skies are there
This might be unhealthy

Some ***** Megan just sat here
           She's not really a *****
But can't she see that my monster friend is angry
Because she just took his ******* seat

Whenever I'm in math class
I always feel like writing poetry
When I am writing poetry
I don't want to do anything else
Math class is over in five minutes
I think I did okay on my test
But Spanish is next
And I know I won't be doing okay there

My stomach feels as if
The acids that are supposed to be breaking down my food
          There is none shh
Are killing the lining of my stomach tissue
I have a self-destructing *****.

Once upon a time
This used to be a math notebook
That's all I ever write about in here
          math.

This is satisfying
My monster friends from Six Skies
           aren't here
           and
           I really wish they were.

I'm sitting encased in a red velvet colored blanket
It's actually my brothers
This is his third blanket
He got it for Christmas
Its his for a while, and then I take it
          even though I already have one of my own
So I guess he'll be getting a new one soon

The monsters from Six Skies
           are here
           watching me
           protecting me
I quite like their company
I don't want them to leave
           even at school
It's not a metaphor
But then again some days I look at myself in the mirror from several different angles of view
More satisfying than I'd imagined.

I forgive everyone for everything
             and I don't angry
Before it was anger and unforgiveness
Slowly I realized feelings like these
            were just too unnecessary for me
I think I do too many unnecessary things things like that
And I want to cut all of it up
I like basic
But I also like intricate

I have been writing poetry
           for three years.
           since I was in the sixth grade
They all used to rhyme
And my parents would be proud
Because I was proud
           as I grinned while I read them to them
And they were proud because it was about things
            like sunshine
I wonder if they would be proud now
Because I never even show them
And the only time I write about sunshine
            Is when something else is eating it away.

This shade of white is making me rather cold and now I feel numb.
Only the gray can make me warm again. It makes me comfortably empty. So let the clouds in the early dawn travel time and watch me hopelessly fantasize about this future in which although it is mine, I cannot see myself.
How can this be true? I was only alive yesterday! But, ah, you see those were yesterday’s feelings.
I feel different today. Getting more used to and consociated to this black abyss which I was senselessly ****** into the other day. And although your brick walls were held up so high, mine was never built and instead I hide myself in the thick fog that crept into my open soul one night while I was sleeping; I woke up and I swear I couldn’t find myself. I was already hidden so well, the lost girl who was a coward and so stupidly took shelter in something that could never protect her.
No, the world doesn’t protect people nor lost souls. It will only hunt you down and torment you until it is sure that you no longer breathe life, but cold air. But I guess that was my fault for not building up your brick walls.
And in that moment, as it happened, everything that I had ever dreamed of mercilessly divided and shattered like all the stars in the sky for someone else to find.
The only difference was from then on I wasn’t cold or bitter or emotionless or blank like everyone thought would happen if I got depressed.
It and I, was only nothing.
The latest victim of the world.
Yet, I felt so soft, like the curve of a swan’s neck.
So infinitely impossible.
So therefore, I wish I could tell you, but this shade of white is making me rather cold and now I feel numb.