wake up at 9
skatepark with tanner and serra kids.
writing a new poem.
don't know why. but i feel depressed.
that thought is creeping back into my head again.
im sorry pantea, but it just does.
there's so much shit going on right now.
i just can't balance it all.
geometry test/air car project/and her.
she just adds to the drama and shit going on in my life.
but she isn't drama or shit. she's beautiful and pretty
and i'm just not worth her time.
it's 9/55 on 11/15, and as i'm writing this, im wearing a black beanie.
somewhere, in san francisco, someone's dying on the streets
from flu, or a cold, or a migraine.
and i can't believe i'm ranting on and on and on
and writing this stupid poem when all i should be doing
is recaping my day.
not writing, practically fucking pouring my heart out.
i feel exhausted and it's only been three minutes since my last typed word.
i feel one day i just might have to commit suicide.
my friends wouldn't care.
my parents wouldn't care.
she might care.
but no one else would.
would the world miss me?
would anyone miss me?
would my family miss me?
this is all a bunch of bullcrap.
life is a bunch of bull crap.
and im done. done writing this.
done with life.