Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Finals Week

Dry hands, sore neck, sour taste.
I crack and creak, and snap
but don't break
More words less thoughts
Nothing comes to mind, my memory has been swept clean
everything moved- to make room
Where did I put that word?
It was in the corner
but now all I see are equations, some dusty definitions
Half unpacked Oh dear

the cord is tangled up in my coat
lights flicker but stay a constant stale presence
is this what its like...to be old?
i drag my hand towards the water bottle
stale liquid, stale thoughts


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