It was like a door was slammed in her face
She was left without a place
To stay
She was walking the wrong way

This is what was left of her soul
She had fallen in a hole
And she can't climb
To afraid to face the truth, the crime

The crime you committed to her heart
You weren't there to see her fall apart
Left alone
To face what was blown

Right in your lie…
She will cry
She will fall
She won't let you see it all

She once said:
"You were the one in my head,
Now I find myself
Alone in what's left."

"We wrote our names in a tree.
Did that matter to you like it did for me?
Don't you remember our life?
The one where you asked me to be your wife?"

For the best
She will put this to rest
In the back of her head, like before
She will let every minute more

Deny the true story; its hard to take
When her smiles are fake
The pain
Has caused a strain

In family and a chance
To find someone to dance
With to the rhythm of love
Look at the sky above

See the blue
As it reins on you
Can you find me?
Can you see?

Let it crash down
Let it toss and churn till she is found
Six feet buried in her shame
Can you take the blame?

You wake up one morning and you look at your alarm clock and realize that you are going to be late for school, your homework is incomplete and laying spread out on your bedroom floor, and your favorite skinny jeans are still dirty from last nights "get together". The only thing that comes out of your mouth at this scenario is: "Oh, shit-cupcakes!"

Yeah, aren't you just a little genius? But hey, I can't be hypocritical. That person is me too.

So, when I woke up this morning (screaming at my alarm to stop being a dumbass) instead of the usual race to get to school agenda, I decided 'fashionably late' was in protocol this morning. How late is 'fashionably late? No one ever did tell me that time. I guess it means an hour? Two hours? How about not even showing up?! Yet, that makes no sense, because then you weren't even THERE to be counted as ANY LATENESS. Why can't life or phrases be simple? I mean, really, people are so complicated these days.

I'm babbling, you'll see that a lot. Back to the reason behind this story, Teenagers Brain and How It Works. Parents were once teenagers and think they know what is in an sixteen-seventeen year olds mind. (doubt it.) Yeeeahh. Times change since the, what, 60s? 70s? Boy's brains might not have changed, but surely girls have. Want to know how? Simple, I love simple, they are SLUTS. Almost every single one of them fuck more guys then there granny did when Hitler was in control of Germany. Wait… Huh? never mind you get the point. Even the preacher' daughters are getting it on with them 'innocence, purity' boys. Sorry daddy, I just outed your little girl. The only girls not fucking every guy that walks the Earth are the… how can I put this… the SMART ones. Hahaha, we don't have too many of those.

Now back to the boys. Talk about Ew on some of them. You goth and emo boys: GET A LIFE! Moaning and moaping isn't going to get you an A on social lifes test tomorrow. Prep boys: You are gay. (Sorry actual gay guys) You spend your time way too much trying to look good. Pleeeeassseeee spare the mirror your ugly face. Thank you! A boys mind is simple, I really do love simple, SEX, is my girlfriend pregnant, and who am I giving a swirly to today? Maybe not all, but a good amount of them.

I have you pissed, bored, or maybe even laughing your ass off at my Hitler comment. So, now your thinking: "What are you then? God?"

Hell no bitch. I'm the girl that flicks paper balls at the fake blondes when they gossip about the latest rumor. Spends too much time sleeping and no enough on homework. I would call myself a loser, but I'm too amazing to be a loser. Yet, this morning I feel like loser for forgetting to set my alarm clock, again, last night. Well damn, the school must be so lonely and bored without my fantastic self there.

I roll over to stare at the ceiling. My room is quite simple, I do just love simple. My walls are lime green with glow in the dark stars stuck on my ceiling. Carpet is purple with a hot-pink rug laying under my bed. The bed is twin sized with snoopy comforter and tweety blankets. My closet is right across from my bed, bathroom is to my left from the bed, and my dresser is right next to my closet. In my closet scarves litter my floor and clothes just come jumping out every time I open it. My dresser is the same for except scarves its thongs and fuzzy socks. Hair products clutter my dresser and lotion. A girl has to smell magnificent, you know.

Rolling out of bed I skip to my dresser and turn on my jukebox (Yeah, I own one. Want to fight about it?) and my favorite song comes blaring out of the speakers: Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks by Panic! At The Disco. Oh great, you think I'm a scene kid, don't you? Let's clear something up. Just because I like to wear skinny jeans and do funny stuff with my hair and listen to some crazy music DOESN'T MAKE ME A DAMN SHITTY SCENE KID! I hate them in honesty. I'm just me. Simple me.

My song is blaring and my hips are shaking to the beat of the music and I can't decide what to wear today. Should I go with skinny jeans and a tank top? Maybe a skirt and leggings with a plaid button up? Such a difficult decision. Simple, honey, simple. So, I do what I do best. Close my eyes and reach into my closet and pull out my most randomness combination of clothes for the day. What I pull out is a plaid skirt (yellow and black),my white scarf , and my white leather jacket. LOVE IT! Opening up my dresser drawers I pull out my black leggings and a bra and panties . Clothes are in check, now I must shower.

When I get in the shower and the hot water runs down my hair I realized something. I live with my brother, who is a quarterback at our school, and he always wakes up early… That idiot didn't bother to wake me up?! How rude of his stupid ass.

See, our parents are drug heads and my brother didn't want us to grow up seeing that everyday. So, at sixteen he got evicted and claimed custody of me at fourteen. We have lived in this house on our own for about a year now. We are two different people, but we know each other better than the FBI could know us. Hey, they know a lot of stuff I probably wouldn't even know!

Where was I? Oh yes, showering and my realization. Well, that's my brother for you. No use complaining about it. Quickly finishing up my shower, blow drying my hair and getting dressed, I move on to my hair. I'm thinking loose curls today. Where oh where could my straightener be? A straightener you ask? Why yes, many people use a straightener to curl their hair. When my friend, Talla, told me that I almost slapped her. I just couldn't believe a STRAIGHTENER could CURL your hair. Would you believe her if you didn't know that? Yes you would! Don't deny it.

So hair curled and I must say I look adorable this morning…er….noon. Haha.

I never told you my name? What? Who the hell am I? Well, I'm Ella Lana Nightingale. Yes, that's my real name, just like my brother's real name is Evan Diamond-dota-ekridge Nightingale. Poor boy, but I told you my parents were jacked up on drugs. I could have been born stupid. No, drugs were never needed for that. I just natural am stupid. Simple, I love simple.

I'm 5'2 with curves. I'm not fat, and not terribly skinny. Bluest of eyes every girl dreams of. Natural wavy black hair. Which, by the way, has a light blue color in my bangs. Pink, luscious lips and porcelain skin. My friends call me there little doll. I'm loud, obnoxious, and I say what I mean. no secret is safe with me, nor do I keep secrets.

My friends know me as Ell-Kat. I have a total of six best friends. Oh yeah, I'm popular.

Friend 1: Telcras. She has beautiful blue eyes and is short, like me, with short brunette hair that she usually keeps gelled. She is free and outgoing. My little spiderman!

Friend 2: Quitni. She has the cutest green eyes imaginable. She is 5'2 with a small figure and curves. She has a girlfriend though. Sorry! The girl can make you laugh when you are down.

Friend 3: James. Tall about 6'0 with black hair and grey eyes. He is mysterious and flirty. Always leading you on, but never letting you in.

Friend 4: Darius. Handsome, blond, blue-green eyes. Muscular figure and stands at 5'8. He is a true southern gentleman. Don't forget that accent. Here is the downer girls. He is gay. Yepp, plays for the other team.

Friend 5: Jenna. Tall 5'6 with long black hair and dark eyes. She is Native American. Quiet and thoughtful, until you mess with her bad side. Then she is a raging bull ready to strike you down with her pointed horns. Grrr.

& Friend 6: My girlfriend. Cassandra. My beauty is 5'4 and has big boobes a nice ass and long soft caramel hair. She has brown eyes and rose lips. She is so sweet and knows how to make a awkward situation….unawkward?

That poem up there comes into play soon. See, I'm dead. Buried six feet under the ground with tombstone with my name written on it dead. I die on the most important night of my brother's life. I WAS suppose to be there for him. I WAS suppose to be sitting there smiling and getting ready to clap his name when they called his name to the stage. I WAS suppose to be there. But, I wasn't. I was being stupid and off somewhere I shouldn't have been.

This is my story.

Want to hear it?