October 12, 2010
I hear pencils writing on paper
Tapping on the desk in a steady, moving beat
Falling out of warm, comforting hands
On to the cold, lifeless tile ground
With a soft, yet surprisingly loud, clash

I hear pages turning while people are trying to read
Taking minds to untold adventures
Fantasies take them to many places
Only readers go
While others sit and giggle

I smell sharpie, being wasted on binders
Telling secrets in notes to friends
Fake friends backstabbing others
Others who truly care
Withering away as the populars get to them

I see mouths moving
Talking to each other in silence
Following each other in conversation
Only as far as “silence” can go
While their hands carry on a whole new conversation

I don’t taste anything
This is silence
For me
Only me

I feel alone
Though I know I’m not
Faces all around me
Only me in my own little world
Without any noise

This is

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