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And you thought school was over, oh you pitiful pupils!
Gotcha!
The school system is laughing in our tired, sickly faces
While we laboriously attempt to retain our educations
But our brains are not sponges,
They are organs
And try as we might, our efforts prove futile
Our stomachs turn and bubble as we sit in nervous anticipation,
Or anxiety, or aggravation, or anteaters.
The breaks are always too short
While the days are always too long
And no amounts of compromise could ever fix this never ending void
That consumes our week
Nine to five does not exist
But eight thirty to three forty does
And this is what dulls the pain of the nearly inevitable
Nine to five.
We dream of heroes
but learn of fatty acids and triangles,
and while this suits the fancy of some, I say
let me educate myself, for found knowledge is the stuff of gods!

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