Pencil Ramble

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Why do I have the sudden urge to write something deep and sucky every time I see a pencil? I've got to learn to control that. Try to draw or something. Maybe break it. Split it down the middle. I've done it before I can do it again. Last time some old school hag grabbed me by the collar and said, "Why'd you do that, huh?"
"I dunno," I replied, completely aware if the other kids eyes glancing over me, borrowing their petty brows with disgust. They should see themselves as the god damned half- hearted fools they are.
"God forsaken kid," the women spat. I hate people who judge my generation, after all, they are the ones that raised us. Hippocrates. She threw me around until I landed in my chair again.

I then proceeded to break the pencil into fourths.

People think I'm stupid, but they don't have mirrors in their homes, do they. Those silver backed windows of narcissism. Oh they make my life.

Wouldn't it be cool to draw on someone's face? None of us know who we are, maybe a look in the mirror at your face would give us some faulty condolences to guide our lives by. Maybe. It would certainly help me steer my life away from the inevitable, whatever that means. I don't want to be a boring person, but hell, that's all I've got I suppose. They don't understand my sense of humor. What else is new. After all, "all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be."