image

Through the glass, the world goes by,
A heavy lens, a singular eye.
School ends in eighteen days, they say,
But I grind myself to dust each day.
I have bad grades, the pressure grows,
As the sand inside the hourglass flows.
No water in my cup to put out the fire,
Of the dumpster fire of my world.
I want to draw the pain I hold,
The mechanical joints, rigid and cold.
Faced it all, stood through the strain,
Of the endless beauty and the pain.

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