You walked into class two minutes late.
I noticed immediately; you were freshly shaved.
From the top of your sideburns all the way down. You had a baby face.
You looked the same as the day we met, back in the sixth grade, when we were full of optimism.

The cold gross floors
Stomp, stomp, stomp
Black tiny spaces
In shoes that stink
Im confined for hours upon hours
The rigid concrete tears holes in me
get lost in the bed sheets
The last thing to be grabbed from the bathroom floor

I get hit in the face... a lot. Dodge balls, basketballs, volleyballs, tennis balls, doors, walls, bird crap, baseball bats, rogue hands, flying sand, and just about anything else you can think of. Everything just seems to have an affinity for my face.

When so many things stop and they clatter, up in the jabambaway things hip, hop and shatter. For up in this place a great WHO lurks about For the little who-whoians ask and they pout. For the lorax knows best, so the Lorax puts those who-whoians to the ultimate test!!

“Take all the time you need,”
They said.
But now I’d much rather be in bed,
Because I’m 76 today.
My life is beginning to fade away.
“Take all the time you need,”
They said.
I hope you’re happy.
Now I’m dead.