Self harm colorless

The stone walls of hate

Sore.
The static calls me.

I'm not even in the class of Science yet, and I can feel the stone glares of my peers. As many suicide exclaimers say, not a lot of people like me. Their hurtful words seem so cliché and yet they hurt so much. Like daggers to my brain.

Foureyes. Crybaby. Fatass. Science loving fuck.

So many hurtful words I've grown so used to hearing, it barely hurts me when they say them. But they strike me at random times in the day. Almost like a gunshot giving pain hours after being shot.

Luckily for pitiful me, I'm not alone. I have quite a few friends, but yet they barely even have the courage to look me in the eye. Or, I act like such to them. Damn,I've never been good with speaking, or making sense of my own words. I get lost in all the meanings and possible outcomes of words. I find it strange how words can both be daggers and music.