Um like I think so

I thought my chest was going to explode, and not in a PG-13 way that some movies do.  I’m talking blood, guts and gore, solid R with a disclaimer in front of it claiming no accountability in school related shootings.  It sounded like a squeaky merry go round in a dilapidated park.  It was like their plump brittle lips were the frame in which the shirking emanated from.  I tried to watch the sonar waves collide about the room.  “Like”, “Um”, “As” and “What?” circulated freely within there 12,000 word vocabulary.  They snipped and gripped at each other from across the room, with large emerald eyes.  I smirked because I too had, possibly had that similar banter some recent years ago.  It was like a kind of garbled toddler language,   no logic or solid descriptions.   There was this tense discomfort misting throughout the room.  But I was fucking high, so I just didn’t give a fuck.  I shouldn’t complain, it wasn’t entirely their fault.  Life had handed them everything and still they longed for more, shinier and newer things.  How else is anyone to prove themselves to themselves in vain?