Eight months

and I am okay.

Eight months and fourteen days

and

eleven

forty

forty-one.

I hate who I 

(surround myself)

am

(with)

Sun shines

prevails

through glass

casting light

across my

eyes.

I sit with my

acquaintances

(or)

people that are

maybe friends.

We aren't

good

and I would never wish we were.

The girl with the headband

pink hair

(The boy) with the sweatshirt

and smile

(The one) who makes no sense.

(And) music I hate

spills through the

speakers of phones

that I want.

Words

whispers

drum

kick

clap

mindless

droning

of phrases

I hate

and people

(I resent)

Saltwater

hot

it burns.

Like a

(paradox)

my hands are

cold

the water is too cold

and it is

(hot)

Existence

the bane of it

why did it

make me who I am

when I could have sculpted myself

(if only I was)

Clever.

I am a bad person.

A girl with

brown hair and

brown eyes

just like every other girl with 

(brown hair brown eyes).

I miss the original

and I hate the original.

I said

(it won't work)

and (you) said

(I don't care)

and now we are like

paper.

You can 

write

draw

read

on paper

and erase

if you (hate everything)

Only until you

screw yourself

(over)

and coat the paper

with

wax.

Because with wax

the paper is

shiny

and pretty.

Even when the wax (melts)

you are still

perfectly

()

unable

()

to write.

Even if you miss

(writing)

writing.

Present day

I found my

place.

I wish I didn't.

I am a bad person.