We are skeletons, the outcast of society. We are skeletons we shouldn't be walking, we shouldn't be talking, we shouldn't be breathing.
Lay us out, arrange our dying bones to suit your purposes make us seem all right for a while, make us look normal.
"Thank you room 105 for listening to my poem. I hope you enjoyed it."
While mr. limits roars like a lion saying "well done miss punks!" The class claps as loud but also as sympathetic as they can. It's like they are clapping in slow motion, but than I realize everything is going white and I realize it was just a wicked dream.
