WARNING: This is a true story based off a friend of a friend that I'm turning into a story. It's composition is eerily similar to Ellen Hopkin Novels, and it may not even be a true story, but I believe it is. Names were changed and the like. If you don't like these kind of things, turn back. This is about 13 and a half and up.

 ________________________________

I've been reading Ellen Hopkins

I used to have

innocence

But all that changed

When I realized Life

Is A

Jerk sometimes, letting

You spiral down

Still thinking your silly

Notion.

So I decided

To make my story.

It's eerily similar to

Ginger and Seth and Bree's own tales.

I'm sure you thought those were

Bedtime stories

For teenagers?

I wish.

My name? You can call me Collin.

And if my life were a Greek play...

It wouldn't be a Comedy.

I'd like to believe it was a Best seller though.

Because living with

The monster or

The Lady or

Crystal-- and I don't mean a girl--

Letting what I leave all pretenses and ca;;

The Obliterators

In through, let's say,

The Window of Opportunity--

(It's a pity you can't read sarcasm..)

Letting them in leads to cracked gl*censored*...

In more ways than one.

It all started

In a town of infinitesimal proportions, but only in my

Exploration-minded 14 year old brain.

By the official name of L.A., C.A.

What it should be called?

Sin City II, Dismalaysia. Population?

Me.

My friends-- Dani, Kelly, and Ritz

Lived in their G.R.E.A.T. and their

D.A.R.E. lessons-- virgins in drugs.

But then I met my supplier.

Miles.

His motto?

Miles of the stuff-- for a suitable price.

Oh, how true.

Miles

He was an average looking guy.

Brown hair, black eyes-- black as

death.

He's Latino. Not that that

Means anything-- it could mean

anything.

I'm not racist. But he scares me--

Heavy build, permanent scowl,

Even in happiness. It has a meaning,

That anything

could

and would

happen.

I first got started on

Meth.

Miles was a junior at the

time.

I

was

A freshman. The first time

I took it, I flew. Screw Cloud

Nine. I was already past Sixteen.

It was amazing-- until the crash.

Until the crash, I felt

Nothing

Could hurt me.

Me and my delusions.

Hooked

You know how those

D.A.R.E. guys keep on and on

and on

and on

and on

and on about how addicting

the Obliterators are?

And then they show all those

STUPID videos o peer pressure?

Well, 11 times out of 120,

it isn't peer pressure.

It's how badly

you

want

to

                                                                                                                over

                                                                                                                 and 

                                                                                                                over.

How badly you want to

Break

out of your snail shell

reputation with a golden

Hammer on the walls and

not

go with the

Current. How much will you

dare to colour

outside

the lines. Not accepting

No! for and answer.

Someone will notice?

But

that's the thing-- you

Won't allow them

to break you open and peer

Inside.

Poof! go your brain cells

I went to cl*censored*

high

today, singing with

The angels,

On top

Of the world and

Leaving

My worries behind.

The teachers noticed

A change, and

My friends

Are worried, but that

Doesn't matter--

I'm leaving all my troubles

Behind

In Death Valley, while I picnic

On Mount Whitney.

I swear

To drunk I'm not God
(I'm stoned)

To you I won't do it again
(Until tomorrow)

To me that I hate what I'm doing to myself
(Except when I'm high)

Cutting

I've started cutting myself.
People overreact to it-- it's
not half bad.

Using the blade like a leech,
Sucking everything out of you
And leaving only pain to replace pain.

Feel the hiss of the ice-cold deathbringer
Cold and uncaring 'gainst your shivering, sweaty arms.
For once it's bringing some sick and twisted
form
of happiness.
Because I do feel happy when I cut myself--
Watching the dark rosy fluid

leak up and

spill

over the sides, taking my sanity
with it.

I had to Clean

Up the mess I made,
The crimson that had dribbled down in
Droplets onto the floor.
By the time I was done,
The makeshift tourniquet I had
Invented was soaked in
My blood.

And it obviously wasn't blue.

I should explain

My comment.
Blue blood is royalty. Called an
Idiom, dimwits. I know it  stumped you.

My mother called from downstairs.

Collin? Get down here.

She calls, and I know there was a
Perverse twist in her words.
She'd be dead soon--
She was old.
Coming, Mom.

Mom

Lazed on the couch like some
Profound Jabba,
Folds of fat flopping
Off her easy chair like
So many cakes eaten whole.

What do you want, Mom?

A beer, obviously,
was her response.
I really need to drown my sorrows.
Get me dinner while you're at it.

I sigh, turning awway from her lank, greasy hair,
Her pallid complexion,
Her dim eyes staring in the
Only slightly dimmer lights towards the T.V.

Figures. 'Drowning her sorrows'
Is her way of saying,
'I'm not high and need
To fix it.'

Love it, just as I love Hopkins. Very foreboding in the selection of words.

One thing:

Cliff Hanger should die!!

I really like these, I think they're inspirational for this style of writing. However, im not sure how much meth we should put on this kind of website.

But I think you did a good job.

Updated: I swear

That's amazing, Russ. o_o

It kept me going, I'll as.sure you that. I love it.

And remember, if you ever need to talk about anything or anyone, I'm back. o3o 

iButtBumpPeople :D

Up.

Updated: I had to clean; I should explain

It was better then the Twilight books^^.I hope it gets published so I may read it^^

Just amazing.
Better than some the poetry I read in Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul, and they're pretty good.