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.