holding on for tomorrow

well I wonder

do you see me when we pass?

I have died

please keep me in mind

please keep me in mind

I've been going everywhere on the train lately.  Alone, of course, but it would make me happier if someone was with me.  Today, I took my music for company, my big headphones and iPod and I practiced going to college.  It was fine, except my shoes were painful and felt as though they were tearing holes in my heels.  This I had to ignore.  A few days ago I got on the train and went to Brighton, the nearest city to where I live and bought 'the best of Blur' cd, which is great as it includes every song I have not been able to get enough of recently, namely On Your Own, Tender, For Tomorrow... the cds cost 6.99, which is relatively cheap for a set of double disks.  My father said that it should have cost 1.99, as Blur are crap, but I ignored him as he is a fan of the worst type of Irish music, irritatingly extensive prog rock and has songs by that loathsome twat Bono and his insufferable band of morons, half of which we were forced to listen to on the way back from our 'holiday' to Norfolk.  I must have been channelling Morrissey in my English exam, for it was this miserable journey I chose to write about in the creative writing section with much added drama and melodrama for effect; well, I wonder, did the examiner feel the hatred I felt for that insufferable excuse for a holiday glaring from the page? I would have been far happier camping in a  shed in our back garden, rather than tossing and turning in a bed of mostly metal springs stretched out of proportion in a room 6ft long and less than 6ft wide, with the wind whistling tumultuously through the cardboard-thin walls and up from beneath the dog-scented floor.  The caravan swayed if you moved about in it too much, the weather was miserable and I spent most of my time studying for my approaching exams and being revoltingly uninspired by the nonexistent scenery, listening to the Smiths and feeling depressed.  Plus, this 'holiday' encapsulated the recreation sites of the rougher-and-whiter-than-thou.  Everywhere you turned were 9 year old toughs with shaven heads and hard expressions, not peddling drugs  but merely seeming intimidating with their presence.  The highlight of the break was the roast lamb dinner and accompanying strawberries and cream.      

     I had a really bad dream; it lasted 20 year, 7 months and 27 days... and I never, ever had no-one ever.