Sipping my rockstar. Just like the old days. My head is so heavy. Completly scattered too. The cicadas are somewhat comforting. I'd even do petrol now if my mother wasnt standing downstairs. All I wana do is puke, Eminem is right. Im staring out the window but what is there to stay for. The sky is so greay and dull, the air so cold. my poetry so empty and depressing. All I ever was goo dat was poetry. I laughed today, and im still trying to work out what type of laugh it was. I saw her today and in my mind I charged at her and pinned her down. I pulled out her hair and scared her face. I couldnt control my fists. I was like a beast unleashed after 2 years of heartbreak and the teacers couldnt keep me off her. Man, who have i become? If this is what dying is like then how do te elderly at my work manage to live each day and still smile. I need someone to look after me for a while.