Fingernail stratches

I would soon be expelled, I am sure.

My grades had plummeted like the 20's stock market crash in no less than 24 hours. I burned my uniform in the parking lot, and refused to wear apparel unless it was black. I painted my face everyday, with more black eye paint than I had ever used before. Black-the absence of color-had become my new best friend.

I spoke to no one, glared at the pseudo-care principle until he stayed in his office for fear of his life. I had no weapon but myself, had no comfort but my mind, and had no love but that of the day I too would die.

I was mourning, I was in rebellion, I was in hell.

I am an anarchist An antichrist An asterisk I am an anorak An acolyte An accidental I am eleven feet Okay, eight.. Six foot three. I fought the British and I won I have a rocketship A jet fighter A paper airplane Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh! Say what you will I am the kill The only thing that keeps you really truly safe from being real I have a tendency To exaggerate Just a little bit I am a plagiarist Apologist A lawless calculator Ah oh I am an optimist A closeted misogynist I fought the British and I won I have a wishing well A living will A magical eight ball Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh Say what you will I am the kill The only thing that keeps you really truly safe from being real (Put Pat Sajak back in office) Put Pat Sajak back! But the sun still sets on you And the retarded party nobody came to but you And so you drink to all the emptiness until you wake up And there's hell to pay again And the punch line point at you And all the comebacks in the world are in your head But you can't say them until everybody leaves And it's just you and your imaginary friends... Your imaginary friends... Your imaginary friends...

Such is the song of my life. My life that felt like the rest of my life but was only one literal day. It felt like the rest of my life because I knew each day for the rest of my miserable existence I would dwell this way. I was the fallen Sydney Carton. The unredeemed Orual. All the characters in their own stories that I analyzed and pondered and dreamed up in my head.

Yes...my head. For that was where I live now. My body trembles in its auto pilot mode, it searches out the barren of the day. My garb and demeanor are a falsehood, their only intent is to keep people away. To frighten them so they might leave me alone.

Truth be viciously told, we are all monsters awaiting a catalyst. I feed on prey in this aching head.