As soon as the exams were over, we will be taken over
To a place already familiar to us, as this was ours to be taken over always
The place was like forever before, a two story cubicle
With a small attic attached, the best part of it.

They welcomed us, as usual with some food and sweets
Which made us feel drowsy for the time being
And we will go to bed in the attic, which we will insist
As it was a place full of suspense and thrill

The attic was used as a storage room, with a bedding spread between
The enshrouded variety of storage, which will be our apparatus
In this lab of mystery, sometimes we will find some
Interesting things like, train tickets, military calendars and at other times, great mouth tangling stuff


|AB|

My little sister, is bright.
My little sister is unique.
My little sister is confident.
My little sister is funny,
But she's a bully.

My little sister is a bully,
I can hear it in her words.
She's someone I would hide from,
If I were in the same school as her.

My little sister is a bully,
But she's still changing.
I think the reason she's so blunt,
Is because she's afraid of being like me.

My little sister is afraid,
She saw me crying everyday.
So she shields herself with words.
It makes me feel like I've ruined her.

My little sister is a fighter,
She is thin but strong.
She's someone I want to be.
Hopefully she's still smiling.

My little sister is depressed.
But her smile is still wide.
She knows not to hide.

Tell my mother I'm sorry
that the love notes I wrote were never for her,
that she never had enough time to actually pay attention to me or what I said,
that she wasted her time tucking me in at night to help me feel loved when it never even helped,
that I stepped on the cracks in the sidewalks so her back was constantly broken  while she was trying to provide
for everyone else but me.

Tell my dad I'm sorry
that I was such a failure that every step I took in the right direction was the wrong one,
that his voice went hoarse but at least he was acknowledging me,
that no matter how many times he left bruises I counted it as a hug,
that he never had time to listen to me,
that he never had time to swallow his pride,
that he never had time to love me.

Tell my siblings I'm sorry
that they never took the time to understand me,
that they'll never know just how easily harsh words can stick in someone's brain,
that I ended up so much like the person they despise,
that I lived up to every negative expectation they had of me.


Tell my friends I'm sorry
that my conditions were some sort of joke,
that I never actually mattered unless they needed something,
that when they replied laughing out loud when I said I was dying they couldn't even recognize I actually was.

And tell my heart I'm sorry
that I forgot how to sew it back together again
when it
stopped
beating.