All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.

Poem taken from One thousand cherry blossoms (emilymemoryrosary.blogspot.com) :

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
FUCK YOU WHORE.

So.. another day gone shit at school, nothing special for today in this part of my day. Lots of headaches and nausea, and disgust. Let me explain.

*Bell rings*. After a couple of minutes trying to relax my thoughts and mind, a teacher comes out the classroom yelling "GO OUT EVERYONE! I HAVE TO LOCK THE DOOR FOR THE BREAK!" And so I do. I did what that bitchy whore told me.

So, I'm out. Under the warm, autumn sun. But who cares?
Everywhere I look, all people look like hypocrites to me. All wearing the same clothes, the same faces, the same attitude, every day. Every fucking day. And this thing alone is just enough to make me sick.

And the words of my thoughts fall like crumbs of the biggest cookie ever made on earth every hour I spend at this poor place. Because it really is poor.
Poor because it has nothing to offer to me anymore. All that it causes me is repetitive ailments and rash in my soul.
Poor because of its inadequate artistic benefits. What I have been studying all these 5 years now just makes me puke. And all this thanks to our psychotic art teachers.
Poor because of the fake perceptions and "I'm so artistic" (WRONG) notions it plants on its students minds. Now seriously, it's crazy. Cause what they do is not art. It's "I want to put on a play for the end-of-the-year party and show my crazy fucking posh self". Oh, fuck me!

Ιn spite of all these, school has helped me at one thing: learn how fucking useless and pointless it is to me. Because all the people who compose my life and give a meaning to it, are NOT IN ANY WAY RELATED TO SCHOOL. Not to mention my school.

So, yeah. This is gonna be a fucking good year.