Fuck.
Shit.
God Damnit.
Why can't you just look and see me?
Well.

I know you can. 
Kinda Sorta. 
You just don't stop.
You don't consider looking at cracks.

The old school walls are a burgundy color that no one finds interesting.

Maybe once in awhile.
For a brief second.
Someone.

She was new in school, I think. 
Never saw her before until sophmore year.
Pretty outgoing. 
Liked piano.
I think she was part of the prayer group.
Fuck.
It's so messed up.

 

She hit the pavement like a fucking dead pigeon when it hits a window.
The schoolbus pulled up at the right moment.

I think.
I think.

I think she planned it.
Yeah.

 

"Hit it and Quit it."
That's what she's been called.
By some.

They hung a memorial on my left wing.
No one has drawn on it yet.
That's nice.

 

I try to make sure no one fucks with it.
No one will see me.
No one does.
No, well.
They do but really they just.
Pass by me.

I know that those two girls are fighting.

I know that he knocked up a teacher.

I know the teacher isn't divorced yet.

I know.
I know.
I hear.
Fuck. 
Shit.

 

I still just keep cracking.
No one will call for me anymore.
No one will look at the pale morter between my pieces.

I want to cry.
It hurts.
Fuck.
Fuck. 

Why did you leave me?

Why couldn't I of been more than fucking walls?

Why did you have to use me.
As.
A diving board.

 

Burgandy isn't a memorable color.
It's like that one video.
How'd it go?
With puppets and shit.
She showed it to me.

And she told me that my hoodie's color suited me.