supremely emo poetry and thoughts

Last night at the awards gala, it was mistakenly announced that I had worked for the Oracle since my freshman year. I chuckled at the typical Hamline-esque error at the time, now I can't help but think how I wish that were true. I would've had that much more time with Graham, and Brian. And especially Manney, my memories of whom I know frantically try to keep close in fear of losing them. I snatch at them like so many Girl Scout cookies in front of me. That was a pretty poor reference. Oh well.
Allan and I are throwing notes back and forth. It's fun, but it was more fun when Mel was involved and they were all written on Post-its. I'm going to miss these people this summer. I wish so much I'd gotten to know them earlier.
I have a 5-page draft of a paper due for Shakespeare, and for some reason that is unfathomable even to me, I'm writing it on "The Tempest." And about Caliban. I've read and done more work on this play than any of Shakespeare's plays and I'm more sick of it than any other play, but here I am, writing more about it because I'm insane that way. It should be a decent paper, anyway, so long as I can spit out a draft tonight.
I saw Kari Fangel this morning. We talked about Manney and it was nice to be able to talk to another person (outside the world of the Oracle) who really understands how stupid and trivial the things that are important to others seem to me right now. She said that on that last day, he was happy and they'd done some shopping and he made plans for the next year and was excited at the prospect of perhaps returning to Germany eventually. In a way, I'm glad that he seemed happy that day. But on the other hand, it makes it even harder for me to understand why he did what he did. And I don't think there is any way for me to understand, and on some logical level I really, truly know that. But another part of me finds it impossible for me not to strain to make some sense of this and to try to understand how this happened. Because Manney, I still can't sleep at night. and random memories of you keep throwing themselves in my way every time I think I might be approaching a moment of normalcy. I've started lying to my mom because she wanted me to go see a doctor about not sleeping well, but I know it would be pointless. Besides which, I'm still functioning and operating. I'll be ok eventually and I'll just be tired in the meantime.
Well so much for not sounding emo. Speaking of which, Allan and I are writing the most ridiculously emo poem together, line by line, on a sheet of paper that we're throwing across the room like it's a note and we're in 7th grade. It's a somewhat morbid way to pass the time, but it fills it. I shall post it here for laughs:

my eyelids are like the petals of a dying flower
i feel my inner self turn and wilt
i am a sea of despair
let me engulf your shores
...i die
my grave is like a flowerbed in winter
frozen, cold, and lifeless
yet even in this grave, almost as shallow as my still-beating heart,
i find no rest
for it is only my soul that is barren and dead
my body goes through the motions of life as a zombie
hungering for other minds who understand this endless torment called life
no one can ever understand as i waste away
i feel my self-imposed solitary confinement create a vast gulf between myself and this earth as i wander it alone
its distance is now too great to bridge
my lonely exodus only magnifies this solitude, as ghosts pretending to be people
both surround and push me towards madness greater than any has ever known
the ghosts surround me now, pulling me down...
down...
into the abyss
never to be heard from again
as the last petal
falls