Head down.
Eyes closed.
Sleeping with an awake mind.
Sleeping, but only to the point where I can still hear what's going on around me.
I've been sleeping for the better part of the past month and I don't think I'll be very awake until May 28th.
I really haven't been trying to miss class.
I haven't been trying to miss my brother either, but he's 5,099 miles away and I can't help it.
I can't help it.
At this point I'm scared of waking up.
I don't fit into Creative Writing 2 and I'm anything but creatively advanced.
I haven't been inspired lately and I've run out of things to say.
I've run out of boys to kiss and tell about.
I've run out of sob stories.
Of rants.
Of poems I don't even understand the meaning of.
I've run out of self-love and I think my writing ability went with it.
The sunny days are burning my skin and making my heart burn for something new.
Something to wake me up.
To remind me why I need to figure out my future.
To remind me that I have a future outside of high school love and high school hate.
I need something to wake me up.
Because the alarm clock ringing in my ears has blended into the white noise that teen angst has embedded in my ear drums.
I stopped paying attention.
Until now.
