I wrote this in school today. It's just an aleatory stream of thought; everything is what I wrote as I thought it up. I don't even know if it's considered a poem...Oh well. Have I lost a friend today? That is, to lose him from my sight. Or perhaps I was lost by him. Either way, he's not important right now. I can find many more of him. Who is this? The shirtless boy in front of the mirror is blowdrying his hair. Sadly, I hardly recognize him anymore. Friends corrupt strength, and with as many friends as he has, he is completely powerless to me. Unable to notice a similar soul. We will always appear young because we died that way. They stare at him like he's inhuman. There is intrigue and curiosity in those black holes. That's it. No more friends. I don't need them anymore. They slow me down. Friends create vulnerability in me. I express weakness. Cut it. Sever ties. They will abandon me. I will be alone again. Isolated. They won't even need me anymore. Is it realy that selfish for me to die now? We have our reasons. If they neglect, then they are indifferent. I'm content with that, actually. I've only tried to like them as they did the opposite. Indifferences opposes love, though it is synonymous with hate. Easy to confuse. Why are you crying? Because no one can see you now. Right thing. Wrong thing. Nothing. Which is the worst? I'm definitely doing the right thing. Lies will surface. Who will see me behind the facade? Who...will care? This is not a phase. This is not a temporary problem; it's a fabrication of the messages the future holds for me. It is continuous until I die. It adapts to destroy my life. They'll see my body and want to be dead too. Good. Will they join me, or will I watch over them? Either way, they will ultimately abandon me because I'll be in the coffin alone. Do I want to be found? How can I help them if they don't understand me? How can I befriend those who do not notice me? This is not destiny. Heartless, he is. You are my translucent window. I cannot see the scratch. The light in your dark. Follow me and don't blink. Create your own story, you who lack regulatory pity. But please, keep it within your own mind. They know about you. They live next to you, not by you. Listen to them speak of everyone but you. Just ignore them. You can cry later. There is no miracle in life. It's a sad existence - to be born and fight to live. The strong live and the weak do not. This is not your volition; it is fact. Love is an illusion. I cannot see it in others when they kiss or touch or speak softly. All lies. Do I really love them? Only the weak succumb to it. Can someone love me or my body? Only my family pretends to love me. How pathetic. You try to be nice and help her with her luggage, but you lose your desired seat on the bus for it. A good Samaritan receives nothing in return. They wouldn't be happy that you did it more than they would try to forget it. Your throat is grown and your stomach aches. Keep trying to hold those tears back. Could you hold them back when you thought about your body lying in a coffin? What about when you imagined your grandmother witnessing the bloody wreck on the kitchen floor? Oh, the anguish in your grandmother's eyes. She quit smoking after you were born. You see now? She stopped doing something that made herself happy. Pathetic child. My eyelids...they are...I don't know. They are heavy. I can't see through my eyes right now and my nose still hurts from wiping it so much. The bell's going to ring, though. No catharsis.