Senior year's a killer

Biting back a scream and a dangerous jump, I grip the window frame and shake. I am ridiculous, irrational, passionate, and disillusioned. Somehow I no longer recognize myself but it doesn't matter because I hated both of me. I long to turn away from the approaching storm, to block the thunderclaps from my ears and the lightning bolts from my eyes [pretty eyes, they say, but they're hateful pools of shit-brown nothing if you look deep].

If I sing high enough, laugh loud enough, an ice cream and bubble gum sun takes me over- but never permanently. The dark wind will eventually knock me over, and as I wait I remember peaceful breezes tickling my face with my own hair. I hate those damn breezes for drawing me into the lie of eternal youth. My own impending adulthood and personal responsibility stretches over me like a suffocating, all-encompassing, fire-filled death. Goddamn my innocence, my foolishness, my steadfast belief that mediocrity would suffice. If only the world would let me sleep- I'm tired. So tired.

My trials have only just begun, they're nothing compared to what's coming and I'm already here, standing at this window, fantasizing about these pills, looking wistfully at car accidents.