Lit period

These hallways hold secrets that slip from our lips; they hear with old floorboards that silence their squeaks as one speaks, dropping names, in a mess of fallen school supplies.

One block watches steadily to the less subtle clock's tick tick tick tock..as two hands take hold of the other's caramel skin. Another sinks into the wall crevise, as voices rise and emotions blare into crimson red scandals and modern propaganda.

You realize that the world is not against you, when you figure out that none of us are alone.

Old school rythm is one of mixed beats, and deceit; replayed and revised into new times and lives..released from old lies. And if we drank to drama, there'd be very little interval time to be hungover.
| {8:09 PM}