ScOpOpHoBiA-wHoRe

  I bit my lip and turned up the volume on my mp3 player in a vain attempt to ignore the paper ball that had been thrown at the back of my head. I knew that more would come, but had learned to live with it. If you could call my pitiful existence living. It certainly didn't feel like it.  After school each day, I would die. Well, not literally, but I'd die inside. It sounds corny, but it's the only way I can describe the bitter emptiness of my soul. The empty shell that was my body, me, would enter the empty house that I lived in, with its empty cupboards and empty greetings that would occasionally await me. After the empty day, I try to add