Thirty Five Days

I almost made it through high school. If I could have managed another thirty five fucking days I would have been free. Life just doesn't work like that though. Thirty five more days wasn't too much to ask but apparently any God there may or may not be decided otherwise and that He (if in fact He existed) should fuck up those last few weeks as much as He could.
No matter how much I had pretended to myself, I had never really had friends – sure there were people I spoke to on a regular basis, had lunch with, bought shitty birthday presents for, but they were never true friends. It was safe to say that in almost eighteen years and four new schools I had never had a best friend.
This didn't bother me as much as it perhaps should have though, it was just the way things were.
I am Frank Iero, seventeen years old, and completely alone.

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