a book on my chest
tripping to the other realm
living as an island
by orating with myself
ranting ideological arguments
only I could comprehend
another petty reason
to be a lonely island
computing numbers
supposed to be evidences
of toil and labor
in creating memories
strolling thru written gossips
while waiting for the next class
imagining good-willed fantasies
for my good-willed crush
having quality time
with Ely, Raimund, Marcus and Buddy
along their timeless youth propagandas
plot out in accurate melodies
when I’m alone
no one listens
no one bothers
no one is hurt
no one is loved