A bus ride or life2:10 the bell rings, the music in the background turns on and fades the school’s noises. Another “happy” school day is over. I walk to my locker pack my bag, put on my coat and head to theother side of the school. There I meet a friend, maybe the only person in the school that has aslight clue of reality and an understanding of who I am, where I am coming from and where I amgoing. The music fades, we make a joke or two, talk about our day and head for the door. Acommon freezing breeze hits us, we walk down to the bus-stop and wait for the bus. The buscomes we get in and sit, sometimes we talk other times we let our thoughts swallow us. In a busfilled with gossip, laughter, “awws” and “ewws” getting lost is easy.5 minutes pass by, my stop comes and I jump out of my seat, say goodbye and go out the door.The music in the background fills my mind again and reality’s burns hurt me, like an emo bleeding internally, I walk on the sidewalk towards the lights with a swagger in my stride and ahand in my pocket. I make a right and walk across the road to the bus stop. There I stop and stareinto the unknown, many ideas, problems and memories just pass by my mind, I ignore them all.In under 5 minutes my bus comes, I take out my wallet board the bus and look for a window seattowards my left, close to the back door. I take my bag off and sit, staring out into the rushingground. The profound words of music hit me,
“Where ever I stay, where ever I am, your memories are always with me.Should I tell someone or should I not,the words of this heart,the whole world walks by me,but quietly loneliness grows in this heart” I have so much to say and yet I question….Should I say what I’ve so often repeated in my heart? “
Hold the person close if they are next to youThe one you love not the one that’ll simply have sex with you Love them to death and then beyond Cause’ you don’t really know what you’ve got till’ it’s gone.Styles of beyond…Great minds think great thoughtsThe pictures I paint make the Mona Lisa look like fake art I feel the pain of Nelson MandelaCuz when it rains it pours I need Rihannas umbrella For Coretta Scotts tear dropsWhen she got the phone call that the future just took a fuckin head shot I wonder why Jesse Jackson didn’t catch him before his body dropped Would he give me the answer? Probably not
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