16.4.07

bullets flying, and me picking off the acrylic

as i sit here in the break room im weary and headachey. i hear the tv telling me that people are dead, young people, people in school. they have ceased to exist. all because an asshole thought he would take a gun to the dorm and see how many times he could make the bodies in front of him fall. hmm. i picked off my fake nails while i thought of this happening earlier, hurting myself without feeling it, and peeling the layers of actual nails away with the plastic shards. too much to think about and too many black spots dancing in front of the hotel reservation on my computer.
this world.
i tell you.
it makes you hurt sometimes.

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