A letter falls from my fingertips, flames
Licking through the envelope, giving
Glimpses of sentences with swirling
Font and answers. Pencils drop, books slam
Open, and a student sits near me,
Their smile becoming flat in an
Almost morbid sense.
Time becomes sluggish and dull,
Tapataptaptapataptap,
Staccato pens on paper and books
Form this new, wonderful song.
I hate mornings.
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