sterile. white. plastic tubing. his eyes are closed. there is a colony of infection growing inside of my earlobe. i have bacteria on the mind. i don't understand what everybodys so obsessed about. whats the big deal? highschool is a game of tag. you're it. hot lava monster. guess. if you were an M&M what colour would you be? i'd be herpes. bradley got drunk and crashed a car into a tree. he lived. his friends died though. after he wakes up from the coma and the doctors get to play mr. potato head with his face he'll be facing murder charges. all the guys were on the football team. i guess we won't be state champions this year. neil was my boyfriend. he likes to grab me a lot, but he can't keep it up. he's so soft... was so soft. past tense. is/was. think. THINK. use your brain for once. god... whats wrong with you? he was in the passenger seat. no belt. the final second before his face spread across the safe side of the rain graced windshield like spilt kool-aid... dividing this final second into a half, and a half, and a half, and so on... 'til it never happened [a solitary drop of human salt-water spots this page.] the coach liked to give him amphetamines. neil didn't know any better. and now he's at a better place. anywhere but newton. i wonder if i should feel bitter. or anything. i'm sitting at the edge of a bed, writing this on pages of stationary. newton-wellesly hospital. nice logo. the paper. it's so small. and there's so much of it. each new thought on a fresh new brilliant white piece of paper each page is the chance to start over and forget. one page everyday. here again. look at him. poor baby. justice today, in the severed life support system of a suicide deprived half-corpse. but it's still dark outside... the constipation of an anorexic dawn... looking in the mirror with crying clothes on... and there are still so many more pages left to stain... because four people aren't many, when you talk about death. and you aren't anyone, when you aren't talking about yourself.