i’m screaming at the top of my lungs pretending the echoes
belong to someone I used to know. but i never knew them and they never knew me, and what’s more, they never wanted to. the echoes fade as the stars shrink from the sun. now everyone turns to stare, expecting the criers to materialize. only they never will, for they aren’t even alive. except in the files in my head. open me up, scrutinize my insides, you’ll find carefully cataloged, all the friends you think i have. he likes to play air guitar and sent me that book there. see? i even found a picture of what he’d look like. and she, she’s a tennis queen with a brain to match her backhand. what wonderful stories the pictures tell. too bad they aren’t real. sometimes i’m so good, i can even make myself believe.