I have a new (but temporary) home, a new (but temporary) school and new (but temporary) friends.
This house it only feels cold til I’m asleep it begs to be owned but this is not my home, it listens in on my dreams. It knows I will go home soon and sets me a fire. I wake before I burn; this home is not my home.
This school is only exciting when; I lay my head down to the ground and listen to the band, I dip my photos in the chemical baths under the red lights in the dark room, I paint pictures of what I use to be, I am given electronics and opportunities I wasn’t before. I am torn and infatuated but failing. I am in lust with the dreams this school brings me.
They feel friendly only when I respond or compliment them; they are all clones. I wish they would disintegrated, crumble to the ground. They are annoying and rude or sweet and caring. These bipolar students don’t show that they care. I wish someone did.
I wish for real friends that I could keep for the rest of my life; I long for a friendship bond. I wish for a home where we can stay til I die. I want a home to have a bond with. I want, I want, I want… Comfort. Comfort is a dream; when do dreams come true?