I'm not angry at Gerald for his comment, I'm not angry at Mr Simmons for pairing me with Arnold and I'm not angry at Rhonda's display of vanity. I'm not angry at any of them.
I don't swing my fists at Harold because he's stupid and I don't swing my fists at Brainy because he interrupts me. I don't want to punch them, I just want to stop.
I stepped into my own world war years ago, and I've been trying to find my enemy ever since. I'm not at war with my classmates; I'm at war with myself.
Helga Pataki is her own enemy, waging a useless fight against my feelings and dragging my classmates into my battlefield.
I'm at war with the love of my life.
I rain missiles on his parade, I fire insults like bullets to his face. I am my very own multi-purpose assault weapon.
I walk the trenches with my fists held high, I roam no man's land with a frown and I return to base camp empty inside.
I feel the ticking of time, my most dangerous foe, the grenade that is my heart.
Sometimes I wage secret battles, I destroy the things that bring him down. I would bomb any platoon, I would take a bullet but I cannot stand at the front line, I will not reveal myself as his soldier.
Everything he is, is everything I need, yet I lock myself in unspoken crusade against my very fantasies themselves.