Brown on black

with green not neon

but like it

with beige rims

and different shades

plaid brown


overlying a cream-like beige

a butterfly with tears on its

back end underneath a catchy

silly poem

more like a cool mentioning

of things to make

people stop and stare


at your back


“Do you think you’re an angel?”


A cruel sentence. Said and given by the same people who demand to know when reminded, if I think I’m some kind of saint. And though the answer is obviously, “No”, they would never understand why.

And they smirk and laugh and label me insane, rambling, and a liar. Even though I have hard, cut and dry, cold proof of everything: Eye witnesses and CCTV footage, among other things. And sadly, that is all they have to do to chain me and everyone else down and run wild destroying everything.

Claiming even that they wrote what I did and that my ideas were actually theirs.

Sad but true.

And Nena, I told you about everything.

And I have nothing to prove. So what if Choaties, Cambridge and UCL people laugh, even though they know the truth of what they have done.

It always upsets me but I am trying not to be angry or hateful.

And I try not to mind.

Kristina from SKS an old friend (and I though a good one) remembered my writings and everything. And Dom remembered me from Haileybury even though I never recognized him. And I know those people care or worry about this at least a little. Or at least that I affected them enough as they still thought I was in Haileybury or part of it long after I was gone and we hadn’t spoken for a long time.

For some reason it is good enough for me that people remember me and my writings, whether they moved on from our friendship or not.

That’s what matters.

Not the people up top, the administration, etc. even if they never read anything I write again, that is fine. They have helped mould me into who I am: unwilling to give up on these or them or me.

And I will insist to do this someday and to do it right.