A Letter to the Anonymous

A marvelous picture, painted. By you, by me, both. Colours explode, red, green, yellow, blue, into fireworks and gasoline. Boy, what wonder? Like a father to me, Mother and Fathers and Sisters and Brothers, you throw, I catch. The ball is not a ball, but a Baby, a fish, a grandfather clock.

The end justifies the means, or so they say. With each breathe it calls, entwining pale fingers until it hurts, in my hair, which you would brush and mingle with yours. I dance on the tallest spire, gasping for air. A dove, A rose, who is not a rose without a thorn. Deceptive sleep. Mouth to teeth to eye, all as sharp as the blade that runs along skin.

I Love You.

What a week......

I am still recovering from this weeks exertions. Right now we (students) are suffering from what we call homework overload. From this I have deduced that Teachers are all either a) inhumane sadists b) evil aliens intent on world domination. This weekend I am left to tackle: a history practise paper, an as yet unfinished tech GCSE, an Art essay and a hideous amount of German translation. All of this is reducing me to a shiny puddle of goo (brain has melted). Thou art not to worry, I shall persevere; for cake, for prom, for freedom from the tyrannical clutches of all that is pure....evil (aargghhh, running out of adjectives).