Chocolate milk to go through the entry box.
Thursday, 05/23/02 - 7:07 pm.

We won again this afternoon. But this time it was a thight match, and we almost lost. I sucked terribly, I didn't do anything. But we won, fuck it.

I got an e-mail from Carmen, she says she misses me around. Ain't that sweet? I just don't feel good enough to be around her, but actually she's not the problem. It's only Veronica the one who turned her back to me. I replied talking crap, because that's a quality she sees in me. Good for her.

When I left school, the guy's BKB team was playing against Ricardo's. Of course everyone was cheering for Senior high. I just hope he didn't feel bad. Playing against one of his best friends (they were like the Dinamic Duo) and the whole bunch of kids he used to play with, in the team that everyone's booing. No one was booing him, everybody loves him (*clears throat*), he's still one of us. They were booing the junior team. It's just a curse or simply bad luck that he's in it.

I hate thursdays. Two hours of math, two hours of computer science, two hours of psychology...and dismissal at 4:00. Thursdays suck.

And that's all. Dull, dull days, you might have noticed.

But hey, I wrote my poem. It's not a poem, really. It sucks, you'll throw up. But I felt strangely...light after I wrote it this morning (it was for today, so I wrote it in ten minutes). Like I had taken a weight off my soul.

I so suck.


I'd rather walk around desolation, than having to stand your foul-smelling hypocricy.

The wounds are still sharp
even after the day has withered
and they accumulate, and they thrust so deeply
and they make a crown.
The crown many love to brag about.

Everything's ok.
Because everything's full
of absence, excuses, guilt and regret.
Everything's ok.
I still breath
and I'm still intrigued by death.

In the most festive and dark solitude
I embrace what I've won and what I've lost
what they're made of
and what I'm not.

Now that I have an audience to ignore me
I can trade the cross I bear for my own reflection in the mirror
to see my finger slowly slide on the dotted line of my neck.

Well, I ran out of chocolate milk. Nothing ties me to the computer anymore.

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