Roland Rousselot, Grade 5
It is like two dogs fighting over a bone,
Or two people shouting at each other.
It feels like sharp, pointy corners
Bumping into all thoughts.
It is like colours purple, black and red
Bleeding to create the world’s worst colour.
Freezing ice cubes running down you back,
The smell of cheese with mould growing on it.
It feels like having no friends,
No one trusting you and feeling sad.
It is like rough, dry sand stuck in your throat
For ever and ever