The sound of my click has
a piercing note in the morning
which jars me awake. I stumble
to the gym while it’s still night out.
The vast lecture halls have blank
walls and are as soulless as the
sheets of paper I work from, slowly
filling them with graphite mistakes.
Lunch isn’t a reprieve, as to the microwave
at Albert’s sits broken and lifeless. Well,
shit. I guess I’ll have to each my lunch cold,
as I don’t have money to but food with.
On my walk home I blast Jimi Hendrix,
Izabella shrieking through the pounding
drums. A welcome escape from the world,
as I can hear myself think again.