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I am back and barely breathing.
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I'm peeling off my skin...
Mamma told me to be something, so I'm afraid. -Matthew Good Band (Failing the Rorshach Test)
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I've wanted to call you for nearly two weeks now. I might just wait until school starts though.
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I ?hate? to be overly dramatic. Kill me.
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I spent a year trying to learn something and my brother and father picked it up in thirty seconds.
It gives me hope.
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One can't tell how hard someone was mashing on the keyboard unless I tell you I was pounding on it.
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I reread Demian by Hermann Hesse while I was gone.
I need a revelation.
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Allow me to introduce myself. I am twelve years old.
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My sister had I party at my house while I was away. She brought people into MY room, played MY guitar, looked through all MY pictures and magazines and moved MY cd player. I was lying on MY bed in the middle of the mess that SHE left me, thinking about twisting MY swiss army knife through MY chest and pouring beer all over HER room.
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Happy trails.
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My voice cracks and rattles from screaming and being sick.
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I doubt I'll ever get better.
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