CC 3

Catharine Wright

Mr. Breaton

EWC4U1-01

April 23, 2015

That Escalated Quickly

She heard them leave finally. They had been here for hours holding her hands, kissing her forehead. It had been difficult to appear unconscious the whole time. She had told the nurses not to let them or anyone in. She did not want to be here, but if she had to be the least they could do was respect her wishes.

Gabrielle opened her eyes and stared up at the grey ceiling tiles. The light was too bright at first and she needed her eyes to adjust. Slowly she turned to face the window. The orange tint meant that the sun would soon be gone. She pulled herself up gradually so she would not be too dizzy. Lying in bed all day was weakening. She had contemplated sleeping during the day and waking at night. Her love of the sunlight and bright colours, which were only revealed by daylight, had turned her against that idea. Her toes touched the cold vinyl floor and she shivered. Gabrielle padded over to the window and let the warmth fall on her face. The windows did not open and she wanted to make sure that her family had gone before she ventured out of the room. She surveyed the small space and noticed that they had left a duffel bag on the couch beside the bed. She walked over to it and unzipped the top. They had left her clothes and toiletries. Finally she could leave.

Gabrielle showered and put on the clothes her family had left. They were too big for her. She looked closely at the garments, they were used. Maybe they had been hers and she had just lost weight. Donning her glasses, her eyes like a camera struggled to focus. Adjusting to the lenses her world became sharp and clear. She retrieved her wallet from under the pillow. Pulling up her hood she slipped out of the room.

Walking fast, Gabrielle averted her gaze and stared at the floor. There was no telling which doctors or nurses would recognise her, so it was best to avoid them all. She exited. Monstrous brown buildings caged the unfamiliar street. The wind in her hair was freedom’s welcome. All she needed was a suitable hotel to spend the night. Darkness was coming. A red brick building labeled Queens Inn invited her.

The lady at the front desk turned up her chin at Gabrielle, perhaps because of her attire. What a loathsome woman.

 She got a room despite her appearance and upon entering she threw her bag on the ground and jumped on the bed. The duvet covers poofed all around her and she breathed in the scents of the bed; fresh and clean without a trace of chemical. There was no getting used to the thick scent of the institution. She slid her body off of the bed down to the floor and sat on the carpet.

“Now what?” she said. Silence greeted her. Beautiful silence. There is never true quiet in a hospital. Someone always needs something and nurses are bustling about. She pulled the duffel bag over to examine its contents more closely. Phone, wallet, clothes, charger, essential toiletries, and rings. She pulled the rings out: one from her parents when she was ten, an engagement ring, and a wedding band. She put the one from her parents on and placed the other two in her shoes. If she needed money she would sell them. Gabrielle’s indifference toward the metal objects surprised her. She walked back over to look at the rings. She did not remember.

“We can’t talk about it, it will cause her distress. Maybe we won’t tell her at all. It’s better that way,” said Patrick. She remembered the comment clearly because it was the reason they denied her knowledge.

This was the man that she had married. She did not know who he was. Gabrielle remembered the careful interrogation he had made when she had first woken up. She was in such pain at the time that she took no notice of the peculiarity of a husband interrogating his wife after she had been in a coma for a week. There was no relief in his eyes at her being okay. The relief came when she uttered three words.

“I don’t remember.”

Her family was no better, as they too were hiding something from her.  There were never secrets between the family members. Gabrielle was pacing trying to recall anything that she had heard that would tell her what had happened. Everyone she heard all said the same thing: it was the accident. Patrick was no doubt responsible for the families silence. She sat on the bed the heels of her palms digging into her eyes.

Think Gabrielle, Think!

Balcony. One word. In the haze of waking she had heard the nurse utter the word. Gabrielle knew that she would never kill herself. Tripping and falling off a balcony was a distinct possibility; she was accident prone. There was no reason why her family would withhold that from her. Then there was the issue of Partrick. The fear she felt when she looked at him.

Gabrielle stood and walked to the mirror. The shock of what she saw almost made her fall over. Of course she would have to get used to this. She expected to see an eighteen year old girl, but there was a woman staring back. The years were gone. Lost in an abyss. Her accident, as they called it, had stolen years away. Gabrielle reviewed the facts. There was a police officer that had come to see her after a few days of consciousness. Her lack of memory had allowed her to be rid of him quickly. Perhaps there was foul play. She knew that police would be involved when injuries of this magnitude were present no matter what the circumstances. Gabrielle spun around at the faint click of a door.

“What a lovely room. Seventh floor. You must have a wonderful view.” The dark figure advanced revealing a man.

“Patrick!”

“You are a resilient little thing, aren't you? I was sure my little nudge over the balcony would rid me of you. Well, let’s see you survive the seven story drop,” he said. Patrick came at her, grabbing her now frail figure and clasping his hand over her mouth. As he pulled her to the window, his other hand grasped hers and he closed her fingers around a lamp. The lamp smashed through the glass.

“I apologize for this, but you are a witness. Your conscience would not have let you keep quiet for long,” he said.

“Witness to what? I don’t understand.”

“It is easier now. If your suicide is later, they will start looking deeper into my situation and I can’t have that. Don’t worry, this time it will work and you won’t have to suffer in the hospital,” he said. He pushed.

The wind pulled at her hair as she plummeted toward certainty.

Brandy Fulton -- Letters to the Dead

Dear Papa,

So I finally did it, I graduated Grade Eight.  I am officially on my way to high school and starting to figure out my future.  Much like you I am not into dressing up and all the fanciness; but for mom’s benefit, I wore a dress.  Auntie Cece told me about your cowboy boots you left at her place, and since I am too clumsy to wear heels, we decided that the boots would not only match my dress, but they fit with my personality way better.  

We had an extra ticket so you could have come, but I understand why you couldn’t make it.  You would have been so proud of me.  I love you Papa, talk to you soon.  From Brandy.

Dear Papa,

I woke up bright and early this morning as Dad and I were going out fishing on Round Lake.  Dad brought your tackle box that you gave him, when he and mom got married. It’s weird to think that most of the lures and hooks in here are older than I am.  Before we left, Nana was telling me how you went out fishing every weekend and whatever you caught is what was for dinner.  We caught a few bass and perch but Dad didn’t think Mom would appreciate us coming home with fish for her to clean.  There are some lures in here that I asked Dad how to use but he says he doesn't know.  I can imagine that if you had joined us today, I would have learned many tricks from you.  Eventually we will get the chance to fish together.  I love you Papa.  From Brandy.

Dear Papa,

You wouldn’t believe it.  Nana got remarried today.  I really want to be happy for her but no matter how hard I try, I can’t.  He is nothing like you, and no matter how hard he tries I will never call him Papa. No one can replace you.

Everyone cried at the ceremony, and surprisingly so did I.  I wanted them to be tears of joy, but unfortunately they streamed down my face in frustration and uncontrollable sadness.  Why did you have to leave her?  You made her so much happier, but now she has moved on, and you are never coming back.  

There was a huge fight at the reception.  I’m not really sure what happened but we left early.  I asked mom what was going on, but was told to not worry about it.  I don’t think we will be talking to the family much now.  This would have never happened if you never left, we all miss you.  Things would be so much better if you were here.  I miss you.  From Brandy.

Dear Papa,

I've finally made it.  Today I will be starting my final year of high school.  There has been a lot of ups and downs these past couple of years, but I've preserved and made it through. You would be so proud of the things I have accomplished.   I'm also starting to apply to colleges, which is equally stressful as it is exciting.  I was talking to Mom about when she was going off to post secondary and she was telling me how each time one of your kids moved out you would buy them something that would help them in the long run.   I'm fairly certain that Mom and Dad did that with Steven and I as well.  I wish you were here to see what I've done.  Steven is even decided that he wants to go off to college as well, which is really surprising to us all.  But you would be happy since he is going off to what you wanted to do. I have already decided much like my Grade Eight grad I'm going to wear your boots again. It just feels right because than I know I have a part of you with me there.  I really wish you could be here though.  I love you.  From Brandy.

Dear Papa,

It has been fifteen years since you have been gone.  I think about you everyday, what it would have been like if you were here, or the memories we could have made.  I was a week from turning three when Mom got the phone call from the hospital, complications from a brain aneurysm, took you at fifty-four years old.  

We went to your grave site today, and I think this is the first time all the family has been together, without arguing, since the wedding.  That was six years ago, you would have never stood for that.  

I hate that I can’t remember anything about you, aside from the things Mom has told me.  I guess we were like two peas in a pod and Mom said I had you wrapped around my little finger.  

We all miss you Papa, our lives are not the same without you.  We love you.

Love Brandy.

Abby Palmer- My Most Recent Kleenex Box

My Most Recent Kleenex Box

You seemed so nice when I first saw you.  Your eyes were wide and watering like you wanted to confide your secrets in me.  Your hand shook as you gently touched me, and I gave in without a fight.  I wanted to help you.  I loved you in your weakness.

            But then you held me to your face and filled me with a disgusting substance I did not yet know the name of, and I realized something:

You’re just using me like everybody else.  You’re no different from all the others that have stumbled into this room. 

You know why I was put here?  For your use.  Just to be taken apart piece by piece, soiled, crumpled, and then thrown away.  Nobody has ever thanked me.  Hell, they’ve done the opposite. 

I was branded just days after I was born.  From the machine, I was a strapping thing.  My mother made all my corners and openings just right.  Brown, plain, sure, but I was well built; broad and sturdy and square.  I did what I was built to do.  I could hold hundreds of tissues inside of me.  If you burnt me in a fire, I would have smoldered to make the most fantastic ash.  If there was a word to describe me, it would be useful.  I was a tool to help you humans.

But that’s never good enough for you aesthetic beings, is it?  My creator decided to tattoo my flesh with a drawing he happened to like.  And you know what it was?  Pink flowers.  And trees.  And birds.  All cartoony and half-assed and the same as every other Kleenex box.  There was hardly any thought put into me.  These birds and trees and nature that are actually melted onto my flesh only remind me that I am meant to be outside, a part of my original tree, not sitting on the ledge of a stale office room waiting for another bacteria infected human to rip me up until there is none of me left to destroy.

Oh, and look, here you come again.  Your gaze is blank when you look at me, and even the presence of your cruel eyes doesn’t come often.  Your smile is directed toward a girl on the other side of the room.  Your hand knocks against my side—once, twice, thrice!—before you manage to reach inside of me, grope and fumble until you get an essential part of my being within your fingertips.  You don’t even have the decency to look at me before you demolish me from inside out.  So, go ahead, take another part of me.  Reach inside of me and take my pride and joy until I am empty, and useless, and hardly even recyclable because of the shell I bear.

And when you’ve taken all that, shove me in a black bag with all the others you deem “now useless”.  I’ve heard rumours of what lies there: stinking piles of rot and more of that mucus you humans insist of blowing inside me.  The paper towel roll has whispered horror stories to me of being tied into this disgusting space, thrown onto a pile of even more human filth, and crushed until I am an indistinguishable pile of crap.  If I’m lucky, I can be soaked in a bath of water and chemicals until I am pulp.  What a pleasant word that is.  Pulp.  I’ll be molded into something else, like maybe an adventure book or a poster or a home for somebody in a city that never sleeps.  Anything would be better than a disgusting human sickness holder.

But, as it is, I am stuck here on this ledge.  I gaze through the windows at the rolling trucks that will someday hold my carcass, and watch as people give me half hearted, inconsiderate glances before deciding to rip me apart.

Well, you know what?  I never asked to be used.  Especially not by you and your runny nose.

They Said Smoking Was Dangerous, But Then Again, So Were You

Emily Crowley

Mr. Breaton

EWC 4U

27 April 2015

They Said Smoking Was Dangerous But Then Again, So Were You

I take a look back to the time when she had asked, “Where are they?”. At 8 years old, it’s hard to do what you’re told and I don’t say, it but the broken package of smokes was thrown in the toilet; a cabinet; behind the stove, where only small hands could grasp, and my crooked teeth grinned; I am the God of life, Mom, and cigarettes are bad!

But now look what you have done.

I can’t tell the difference between words, and the line that 8 year old girl had drawn has been blurred, out of reach. Now I try to forget by smoking too many cigarettes, and taking one shot, two shot, three shot . . . 10, and I go home at the end, smelling like bad decisions, and imminent health problems, and you. My mom won’t notice. No one has, had, will. They never do.

I’ll spend the rest of the day alone, but I’m never completely alone -- thoughts: I have mine to keep me company, they kill me slowly, because this God lacks the courage to end it. I am so god damn weak, so you can do the honours because you’re eating me alive, piece by miserable piece, have at it.  

I’ll sit awake at night, spending time listening to traffic, as cars drive by, lighting my room and leaving just as quick. I’ll make up where these people are going or where they have been, each story a game, and each game has a name, but the car I’m wishing for never comes and it’s a shame because the name of that game was yours. So I fall asleep eventually, after Gwen, Bill, and Fred have come and gone, I am somewhere between hopeless, tired, and dead.

I’ll wake up feeling more tired than before so I lock the door and exhale toxic clouds from my window.

I’ll spend my mornings on the bus listening to the couple seated behind me arguing about control the whole ride because it’s his fault for needing it; it’s hers for being willing, and while I like the absence of my own time to think, they remind me of us and no matter how hard I try to drown them out with music, they just won’t sink.

I step off the bus and the taunting doesn’t stop.

Because there’s a boy on the corner smoking something that was killing him but his eyes looked warm and while I smoke my own, I envy his demeanor. His lips could burn my skin but even that would be less painful than having loved him. He’s been addicted to drugs but then again, so was I, and no matter how hard I try not to be, I’m still addicted to the colour of his eyes. These bad habits will be the death of he and I.

I spend my days remembering. I spend my nights trying to forget, but I end up making it worse because to forget is to remember, and to remember is hell. He’s stuck in my head and while my memory isn’t the best, every single thing that includes him has been branded in my mind with the scorching hot tip of a cigarette, a permanent, painful habit, I’m unable to quit.

Get out.

Diary of an Insomniac -- Jillian Ripmeester

Diary of an Insomniac

2:15 am

Dear Diary,

My eyes are met by the two on the clock once again. I’ve been waiting for them to feel heavy with exhaustion for a while now but they remain open wide and unresponsive to my many attempts at making myself more tired. It’s been two weeks since I’ve slept more than an hour a night. It’s funny when you’ve been awake for so long, the hours all seem to blur into one. The world almost seems to stand still around you. None of my friends are awake at two in the morning, they’re luckier than I am and can fall asleep before midnight hits. Even social media remains silent as the number of hours between you and the last thing tweeted begin to increase as the hours tick by.

2:30 am

Dear Diary,

    Don’t look at yourself in the mirror when you haven’t slept well in two weeks. My face has started to show the signs of fatigue that I dreaded were going to come eventually. My eyes that used to shine with energy and excitement in the daytime now are etched with red lines and underlined by heavy bags. The signs of exhaustion are evident to even the most oblivious of people. My best friend commented that it’s beginning to look like the red lines in my eyes are forming a map and the bags underneath them are the luggage. My other friend told me that it looks like I’ve mastered the art of the resting bitch face. Ever since then, I’ve started to try to conceal my face with the heaviest and most expensive makeup you can buy at the grocery store.

3:30 am

Dear Diary,

    You have not experienced true cuisine until you’ve made yourself a grilled cheese sandwich at three in the morning. I’m not sure what it is about being awake at night and food, but everything fit together so nicely. It was an explosion of yummy, stringy cheese. It was sublime.

4:30 am

Dear Diary,

    Sleep still hasn’t come. It’s been five hours since I got ready for bed. It seems kind of pointless to put pajamas on and get comfy in my bed if I know that sleep is not going to come, but I do it anyway. Books have become my best friends during these long nights and I often find myself getting through them at a rapid pace. The hours go by surprisingly quick when you’re reading a book, and every night I find myself looking up from my book to find my room getting gradually lighter. My new favourite pastime is watching as the stars fade away and are replaced by the transitioning colours of the morning sky. Purples and pinks fill the sky, giving way to a soft yellow, until the sun comes fully out and sweeps the other colours away to cover the sky in blue. It’s beautiful.

5:30 am

Dear Diary,

It is now an hour and a half before I have to get up for school.  I can feel my eyes starting to get heavy. Finally. The sky is blue already, it gets bright earlier and earlier as the month goes by and summer approaches. I know that I have to get up soon, but maybe, just maybe, I can close my eyes for just a second. Goodnight.

New Beginnings

New Beginnings

Final Journal Entry.

    No one hears me anymore. Not a single soul can hear me. Nature took back the planet and I’m the last here. The buildings that are still here are more green than anything else. I never knew everything could be so green, so lush with trees and flowers. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I wish everyone knew that the planet would flourish with greenery once they all left. They left and left me here on the planet with nothing but a long life span and a bit of clothing. If only they knew how beautiful this looks. The heavy scent of flowers blooming, birds singing, and the peace that nature bestows upon a planet is intoxicating. Living here alone has taught me more about how uneducated we ,as a race, were before venturing off to other planets. Taking everything and turning the planet into a living trash bin, without realising that they are killing the planet and when they finally did realize it, it was already too late. Though it has taken decades for the plantlife to take over again and will take longer still for it to flourish, it looks so much more beautiful. I’ve lived on this planet for over two centuries. The first twenty five years of my life was spent in a school next to factories. The next twenty five years were spent  in a factory full of smoke, steel and burned flesh when someone would singe their skin on uncooled steel. The next fifty years I watched the planet slowly dieing because of all the steel mills and construction going on. Any greenery that was around was burned, pillars of smoke would arise from forests and other locations around the planet. The government would call them forest fires from lightning strikes or arson from the fools who go out camping and don’t douse their campfires. Then there is me, silently watching the planet wither away and die, not doing anything about it. Even as everyone started seeing what was happening they packed up and went off world, when I told the Head minister that the world would flourish with life again after they left, he decided to leave me here and force me to die with the world. They said I’d be dead after a couple of weeks but, they didn't realise how much nature can give to keep someone alive. Living‒ no surviving in this peaceful place has become easier as time goes on. I have a shelter, food, water, and I seem to be welcomed by the wildlife. This is home to me, a lush green planet full of life and excitement, not a steel box floating from planet to planet. I am home and here is where I will stay until the day that I die.

    Jackson Torig

My Lesson -- Emma Ferreira

My Lesson

Let me let you in on a little something

I’m no teacher, I’m just here to enlighten

See we’re all gathered here today because we’ve got something in common

Now, don’t cringe, we don’t share the same DNA

We create

We are artists

Now, don’t get too caught up in what that all means

Let me break it down for you. because we, are a special breed

See we are artists who use our pages as canvas, our brushes, pens

We let our words flow out of our hands

We are unique

Our prose shares the quote that we seek

Pardon me, quotation

Because what is better than big cups of coffee, your hand cramping, the ink racing your thoughts to the end of the line

Be patient

It will all come together, each letter wrapping you in a blanket

You are protected

Each artist has their arsenal, their shelter from the rest of the world

My weapon, is poetry

See, my words are not words

My words are thoughts, my words are feelings

Pages filled with analogies and metaphors thick with meaning

When I write, my soul expands, reaching for your hand

I want to take you on this journey

See this piece of me

My poems take you behind closed doors, universes they can’t even begin to imagine

This is not a lie

This is Venus, too dim to the naked eye

Now I said before that I’m no teacher but my poetry allows me to open up and reach deeper

I learn about myself every time pen hits page

What makes me tick, feel sick, think quick, it all clicks

I also learn which words rhyme with tick

But by the time I hit the stage I am a master

No room for disaster

Because I, because we, are artists

This is my expression

This is our creation

We do this all for the sweet sensation

The freedom of knowing we let it go

The sweet release of whatever is between these sheets of paper

Finally getting out what is trapped within

These dark cluttered attics of thought just got swept out by our pens

Never condemn the artist within

Always defend your thoughts, your feelings, metaphors and prose

Now I said in the beginning that we all shared something in common

It’s this

This feeling, this nuance, this nostalgic feeling of expression

This is my lesson

Ball up your fist

Hold onto this feeling and never let it go

Never stop creating

When pen hits page you are master of your stage

Because you are an artist

A Day and a Life of Haikus By: Christie and Mallory

Christie Towne & Mallory McKey

Breaton

EWC 4U

Tuesday April 28th, 2015

                                                     A Day and a Life of Haikus

I wake up, reluctant

It’s only seven a.m.

God, this is stupid

I should do my hair

Way too early to function

I can’t find my pants

Eating cereal

Oh shit, I’m late for the bus

I tripped on the dog

Got to catch the bus

Well, nobody mentioned rain

I can’t feel my feet

No place to sit down

You look like you are thirty

How come you are here?

Look at my friends

Driving all their fancy cars

I need my G2

Arriving in Hell

I’ve been here for four years now

These hallways are small

I hate these people

Why do niners exist?

Get out of the hall

You have the whole hall

Stop standing in the middle

It shows that you’re new

Learn to survive

This place has made me a man

Let me go home now

I fell down the steps

I think I fractured something

Just my dignity

It’s time for first now

I wish I was still sleeping

I need a coffee

God, I hate numbers

What is the metric system?

I am no Einstein

Biomechanics

A pop quiz on a Monday?

Makes me want to die

Such a low average

Damn, I forgot to study

I am going to fail

I want to drop out

I’ll just become a rockstar

JK, “Fries with that?”

Now time for gym class

Really do you even lift?

Go hard or go home

You people smell bad

No you can not just use axe

Go take a shower

You’re such a try hard

This isn’t the Olympics

Please just calm yourself

Finally on spare

The caf has no tasty food

Time to hit the Pen

Lunch time comes around

Great, every grade ten is here

You travel in packs

Yeah, those are not pants

Why is every girl naked?

You need the bible

Are you kidding me?

Daisy dukes and a tank top

It’s negative twelve

Big party last night

Half the kids are hungover

You are looking bad

Why so much make-up?

You look like you are plastic

So much for natural

I want to go home

God dammit, it’s still raining

On my way back now

Puddles all around

I am singing in the rain

I’m wet in class now

Glue? Macaroni?

Why is this a 4U class?

Crayons are for kids

A substitute?

I don’t need supervision

I’m an adult!

There’s a knitting team?

Oh boy, I should really join

I have two left hands

Eyes are watching me

We don’t need all these pictures

Art can be scary

I hate my classes

Should have took basket weaving

I miss the summer

University

Applications everywhere

I am so screwed

These notes are stupid

When will they even help me?

I just need a break

Breaton, how could you?

Stop with all of this homework

I hate PoMo notes

We’re doing haikus

No this is not postmodern

Or maybe it is…

Postmodernism

Seventy pages later

No really, I quit

Reading Klages

Is this even English?

I don’t understand

What is a plot line?

Who cares about the setting?

I’m not taking notes

I’m smart enough now

Stop killing my social life

I don’t need Cornell

I am so tired

I haven’t slept in three days

Red Bull lifestyle

Everyone's angry

Being a teenager’s hard

The hormones are real

This is fabulous

I’m use to these sleepless nights

Ha-ha, what is sleep?

It’s due tomorrow

Computer deleted it

Get mad, start again

I need good grades

Trying for a scholarship

OSAP here I come!

A humble giant

You make English class awesome

We love you, Kitchen

You’re not a T-Rex

Stop jumping around the room

Just shut up, Maxwell

Wow, it’s the new kid

Yes, plaid is a lifestyle

Let’s make fun of him

Okay then buddy

You have a higher average

I will shut up now

Quiet in the back

Oh ye of the flowing locks

You’re so majestic

Your hands in the air

You so don’t know higher math

Breaton is mad now

Red hair and redneck

You are so not a farmer

Go ride a tractor

Only shows sometimes

Do you even take this class?

You have lovely hair

Zero on grammar?

This always happens to me

Forgot MLA

My one saving grace

Teacher says to partner up

I’m looking at you

Oh my God, I’m blind

The world is spinning so fast

Got hit with a sheep

The innuendos

Atonement is not that great

Victorian sucks

This day needs to end

Screaming uncontrollably

I dropped my pencil

Trying to talk here

I’m so done with this bullshit

Get off Clash of Clans

Are you listening?

No! Boom Beach is not better

Put the iPad down

I’m falling asleep

This class is getting boring

I think I’ll go now

In the washroom now

Really? You need more make-up?

I just need to pee

This isn’t your home

Wow, I can’t get to the sink

Stop brushing your teeth

You look like a douche

Got the flow, and the snap back

Please, pull up your pants

Why do you do this?

Faces cover the locker

It’s just a birthday

Please stop laying down

The halls are not your bedroom

I’m trying to walk

What are you doing?

You’ll see him next period

Please stop making out

So many people

I can’t wait to graduate

I don’t fit in here

Back in the class room

Look we’re on the news again

Another bomb threat?

Criminal record

I don’t really blame you though

No one likes late marks

Now the time has come

I survived another day

Mission accomplished

I can’t stand the bus

Want to give me a ride?

I have nice friends

Now we have freedom

Vehicular manslaughter

Run over the nines

Okay, don’t hit them

You always ruin my fun

Don’t hit the tree though

You should slow down now

You’re going forty over

I don’t want to die

Made it home alive

I don’t want to start homework

I just want to sleep

Procrastination

Electronics distract me

No attention span

So much to do now

I can’t decide how to start

Better take a nap