Real World
Time To Say Goodbye

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Okay, wait. Let me get something straight. Is leaving tomorrow going to be "hard"? Because I don't think I've been told that enough yet.

Later, Paula sits alone in the house. She tells us she can't sleep and, while packing, she discovers a poem that she wrote when she first got to Key West and was in a bad way. So she decides to type out the poem and give it to the roommates. They'll appreciate that. Why don't you hurry up, do that, and not read it to us while you-- Aw, dammit. So she's reading it to us and during the poem we get flashbacks, complete with echo-y "audio from the past" sounds. Paula gets into the car with Jose. Paula cries to Zach outside the bar and says that she feels "so sad." The kids carry Paula into the vancab. Paula cries to Svet and says it's so hard. John tells Paula that she has a clean slate. Paula tells Tyler that she's learning to love herself. Paula then confessionals, crying that she loves the roommates. Paula then slowly creeps through the living room, putting the poems down next to each sleeping roommate. Kill them! Do it! She leaves the room, perhaps killing them anyway as she leaves a whole bunch of candles burning. Do you think that, if the house were burning down, the producers would intervene? Where exactly do the rules of documentaries stand on that? It's a good question. Commercials.

If you haven't been to Paula's MySpace page, you're seriously missing out. (Now even less browser-crashy than ever!) On it, she blogs her poem for our enjoyment, due to "overwhelming" requests. Check it out!

My Strangers by Paula Walnuts [all sic]

Falling apart
Pull it together
Too late, it's here
I'm broken down
Way down
To where it is hidden
Hidden even to myself
Shrouded in smiles
Hopelessly hoping
Fake laughter leaps from my mouth
Can they tell?
Happy enough to fool them
All of them
And by them
I mean only myself
Perhaps this will go away
If I can just keep going
I am OK
Stop staring at my charades
Let me breath
Help me breath
I can do this, never mind
Ignore this
It will be gone tomorrow
Wake up six times
Twelve eyes see
Whisper and concern
Just a bad day
See through my lies
My scars
My tears
My flying off the handle
That I have drunk from

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Real World

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