heart_attack knot meat he put s his hand into the cold, pulls out water, drinks it down cool - in a gulping rhythm hands clench and unclench. school was always hard, but now it seems pointless, books are out each line finished on some internal ticking he hears loudly everyday, feeling everyone must but deny it. he only likes the ones which shroud the world in costumed words, he hates book reports, they make all escape incomplete, they moor him to the self he loathes. He waits daily for that moment when he feels most alive. Sometimes it passes and he has to debate whether or not that was it. He got a B+ on his last project and it's going down daily. He thinks over and over again what the girl at the school dance said- "That boy can't dance, I've seen heart attacks with more rhythm" Me too he felt like saying after the initial shunt, strong staircase wit, they'd all feel something. He remembers his last words to his dad, "You're not dying are you? cause then shouldn't you be giving some kind of speech to me?" It all seemed so inadequate for such an unforseen rattling. For a brieft moment the doubt on the outside of all of the objects in our world was clearly visible and any sort of life was just as stable as a book, as admiration in a girl's eyes. 030619 what's it to you? who go blather from