Dear diary, can I tell you a story?
I tried last summer
Dear diary, can I add to that story?
I lied last summer.
Dear diary, can I finish that story?
I died last summer.
But to explain that further, let me tell you the whole story;
I lied last summer.
Your mouth spews out insults like a second nature,
polluting the room with your sickly sweetness and over made up frowns,
before we know it over-sized hoodies and baggy t-shirts,
line our wardrobes in a desperate attempt to make us invisible.
Teachers turn a blind eye and old friends start to forget us.
Before we know it, we’re keeping our hands down in class,
first of all because we don’t want to share our opinions,
but more importantly because no-one would even care.
In this 21st century hell,
we can only try and tread carefully around you,
because when we don’t, it’s worse.
When we don’t, we have to bear the sting as reality slaps us in the face leaving us feeling flustered and insane.
And before we know it,
we’ve forgotten what the heat of the sun feels like upon our bare skin,
because we hate the paranoia we feel,
just walking alone where you’re around.
And the rest of them, they just sit there and stare,
as though willing it away half-heartedly in their minds
could cause even a miniscule amount of difference,
while we,
the freaks,
the losers,
the broken records among a pristine collection,
we were all rotting away as you, like a rat, ate hungrily at our collective corpse.
Before we know it,
those bitter, barely customised whispers you send through the hallways
turn into a deafening ringing,
in our heads constantly
And so as the cool summer air blew through my hair,
red hot tear streaks fell like train tracks upon my pale, blotchy cheeks.
Time slipped through my fingers as weeping angels serenaded me,
eyes closed,
heart overdosed… on emotion,
a notion,
distortion
of devotion…
I fell in slow motion.

There are moments in time
where people cease to exist;
where faces are unfamiliar,
where there are surroundings around me
that I have never seen before.

There are moments in time
where everything comes back
hazy at first;
like a gloved hand wiping away the condensation on the car windows
and then sits comfortably
and I know everyone,
and I'm where I'm supposed to be

There are moments in time
where these bitter realities
beg to be replaced by fantasy
where I understand;
I will never be where I'm supposed to be,
where this life is lived and then forgotten

and in those moments,
I wish my existence to stop
and for the people I know to forget me
and for the end of me.

Do you want to build a city around us?
Fill it with garden and buildings and parks,
then sit among dozens of fields of roses
and live under the grandest of trees and shade.

Strip our city of unnecessary humans,
leave it so bare, so clean, so plain.
Throttle and torture the animals that ruin,
chase away all the evil within.

We'll build a perfect city around us
Just so we can watch it burn