Alone, have you ever felt it? Do you even know what I am talking about? Have you ever lied awake, staring up at your ceiling, wishing to talk to someone but knowing you couldn't? Have you ever stood alone in the classroom, wishing someone would have picked you to partner up with? Have you ever sat alone at lunch, feeling other people glancing at you and thinking 'What a freak'? Have you ever heard those words be said right in front of you?
I doubt it; I really do. I suppose only those invisible people really know what I am talking about. Hey, remember the first day? Oh yeah, that was the day when I sobbed to myself in the bathroom for half an hour because I didn't know where the hell I was going and I really didn't want to face any more people. I think I started smoking cigarettes that day, to hold myself together until I could get out of school and go back home to my sanctuary.
It was either that or it brought me closer to my father. Either way, it was always a good thing when I smoked.
I wasn't always invisible. I actually used to be the life of the party. I blame karma for this, that bitch or my bitch of a mother. She's always the one putting me down. I can't really blame her though, since I am the disappointment she always deserved. Is it crazy that I think that way?
Rhetorical question, you don't need to answer it. I know I'm crazy, but what about you, eh? Are you just as bad as me? After all, you're the one reading this. Why are you snooping through some stupid high schooler's thoughts anyway? Didn't you see the obvious 'keep out' sign by the glare in my eyes? Maybe you're just as dense as Jenna Williams. Since you're here, I might as well give something for you to talk about since there is nothing left for me to do.
My life is a miserable existence. It has done nothing to better anyone. My own mother saw me as a mistake and walked right out the door. My father, well he's dead, so why does he matter anymore? My grandmother told me that I was pitiful, and why the hell was I here except to remind them all of their mistakes?
I agree with her. Damn, this is what I get for thinking at night.
Yeah, I'm smoking another cigarette. It helps me get through these nights when I want to curl up and die. These and my paper and pen. I like to draw a lot. I got it from my father; he was an architect. He was a great artist, and my mediocre stuff can never compare to what he does.
I suppose you have better places to be other than a ghost's head. I guess I should say sorry for wasting your time, but honestly, the pleasure is all mine.
A/N: My new project, I hope you enjoy. I know it isn't exactly my usual style of writing, but I thought it would be more fun to write this way. Tell me your opinions on it.
