Chapter Six It is a Tuesday morning, I sit on the ground cemented floor right by the drain with the over edge. It is recess. After recess I’m going to have history, which is by far one of my favorite subjects because honestly you can’t actually prove if any of it is right. I love it when you can’t prove anything is real. When I am upset, I say to God that I don’t exist, and that he is a joke. He laughs because it’s funny, because he has great sense of humor. I lit a smoke as I sit alone here in the basketball court; there are other kids hanging around here, the punks, the trash, and the grunge kids. You know alternative rock listening, heavy bass drum kind of people who have nothing better to do than head bang their way to death. I love the music they play here. It’s raw and real. I’m not saying other music isn’t, but the music here suits my life. I stare down my frayed, once white school shoes and I think about how life damages us all. Nobody evades the torment. I stare at...
The Art of Love Society. I write poems for one person.