She was the most sane of us all, which, I'd like to clarify, wasn't such a huge accomplishment. After all, the cells next to her held a schizo and a bumbling catatonic husk of a man. Even the cockroach in the corner of my cell that stole portions of my food got more reason than most others do here.
I prided myself on being one of the most normal ones, because that was a huge accomplishment. I had blood on my hands, blood in my mouth, and I smiled all the way to prison and laughed all the way to the hospital for sickos. Happiness is an indicator of normalcy, right?
Anyways, that sanity she had? That made her insane. It was bound to, because you can't keep your mind in a place like this unless your mind was already screwed in wrong in the first place.
She stopped screaming that she was framed after the first two weeks. Another two to go completely silent. A month until the manic episodes began, and that was about the same time that the nurses started pumping her with meds, at least according to Lean Joe. Joe's probably as sane as I am, seeing as he was there to help hide the bodies and made the merry trips 'round the government buildings.
Just unfortunate, she was. No one's going to help her out now that the doc's got her convinced that she actually did the crime.
Glad that I've got myself a lawyer, though, one as nice as you, 'specially. None of this is going on record, right?
The Way of the Game
I sat one cloudy evening
Playing my favorite video game
With nothing but a computer
And the soft patter of rain.
A large maze full of monsters
Lay waiting deep inside
And I raised my sword in strong defence
Slashing through their hides.
Ambling through the labyrinth
I was doing fairly well
At the end there were gold riches
And the sound of victory bells.
I stretched my arms towards triumph
Ready for my prize
But everything went solid black
And my computer died.
Watching and Waiting
Watching out her window
Always missing out,
The fear of all she does not know
Causing her this doubt.
Her doubt is her armor
In this wicked wicked place,
Nets out there to catch and harm her,
Glistening tears upon her face.
Anticpating being saved,
Next time, she will be free.
Drawn to the place that haunts her, it's what she craved
What makes her heart heavy.
Angst and anger, she’s stuck in an abyss,
In this prison, she will swear
That she will overcome this,
Instead she will just stare.
Never getting where
Gleams of possibilities are showing- out there.
Deciding The Category Love Belongs to
As much as I would love to say, heart, his literary brother brain prevents me from doing so. Well, biologically, he is right. So, I am helpless. The heart is an organ which pumps blood throughout thy body, says Google.
Love. It’s the purest emotion. And I am still unclear on the word choice right there. Why is it pure? Why can’t it be the most beautiful one? Why can’t it be the most emotional one? I am finding it extremely difficult to adjust with pure.
Well, as a Science student, let me consider the scientific aspect of pure. A pure substance is something that contains only one type of particles, again says Google. And upon derivating, we can conclude that it might not hold anything else but love. No hatred. No anger. No distress. No sadness. Nothing else but love. Now that makes some sense.
But now, as a human, let me consider the experience side of love. I have found most of my friends to be lovers. Yes, I am a teenager. And quite wonderfully, I found a mixture of emotions in every one of them. So, Science seems to collide with Psychology here. Now, this is taking forever. So let’s try to conclude, shall we not?
So, we have considered various aspects of love. And each one of those gave us different answers. So, let’s conclude that love is related to a very famous expression in Mathematics. It is not defined. More correctly, it is for you to find.
Connection comes from atoms,
Far out in the cosmos,
Splitting like glass,
Becoming something bigger than itself,
And that's how all love,
Platonic, family, romantic,
That's how it came to be,
So when you go through life,
Feeling a pull in your chest towards something right,
It is the atom coming back together,
Coming back to make something beautiful.
I think he used to smile at me,
I think he would brush his fingers through my hair.
Laugh with me.
Sit with me.
Hug me, cradle me -
I think we were close,
(I think I'm supposed to love him?
And he's supposed to love me?)
But I'm not sure,