No it’s fine, I’m just going to sit here, and pretend that I know nothing. Write you some cute words, and tell you how much I love you. You’re the nicest. Not secrete enough though; just leaving yourself obvious. Words are written all over your skin, quite legible. I just wish your mouth expelled more words, instead of smoke. To say you know damn well, is to say the truth; the obvious truth. I’m sleepy at the thought of saying things, fatigued. My efforts are in vain, and my requests are taken, and then cut down. I’m just going to stay quiet, the thing I hate doing. We’re walking paradoxes. Maybe I should be like some of these sheep, and say nothing. No harm right? Good. You probably don’t even remember, but you know what happened. I’ll just wait in the dark, with a newspaper I can’t read, until you decide to kindly hurt my soul. Then I’ll go “Oh, oh my! I never knew this, how could you!!” then go back to trying to read that paper. I’ve written a plethora of articles, blogs, music, poems, and such; wish I’d give school this kind of effort; but anyways I don’t want to speak about school. School upsets I; but then again, I guess you upset I also.
Nothing is real. I’m going to start living my life through that notion. Maybe if I did that, I wouldn’t kill myself over you, or whatever. But I like doing that, what’s that, like suicide right? Hmmm, right. Well, guess I’m suicidal. I don’t know what to do anymore, but I mean, I never knew what to do. I just breathe air, an even that I find difficult. I’m upset, so I’m going to stop writing, and find something to entertain me; as you’re probably being entertained yourself.