A poem I have had to reconstruct the lines of from its text in block form (though the words are what I had written back when):
Flight is a crimson,
paperlike thing,
a narrow dash
into beyond and,
finely altered,
a fall into ever.
A life in its breathing
is the very
scrumptious nature
of the skyward
movement, and many
shall the beaconed
clouds agree that,
without wings,
angels ascend
into empyrean.
Not quite sure what it was about. From about here in my story.
Desperato
5:09pm tuesday, 28th may
Hi, I'm schizophrenic and some guys at school dosen't understand quite what it is. So they are giving me a hard time about it, like teasing and stuff.... i'm really getting sick of it. I'm wondering if you had to go through the same thing and how did u get through it?
I hope you can help......
Stand
10:07pm tuesday, 28th may
I was over twenty-one when it first hit me, so there was more people feeling sorry for me than teasing me. I only have the suggestion that you ignore them, and if they see they can't get a rise out of you, maybe they'll stop.
Desperato
Stand