04-14-2019, 03:29 AM
Lying in front of me
a sheaf of exam sheets
riddled in angry red circles describing
mistakes outnumbering my patience.
This is not working out.
The lessons, they feel like words.
Words swimming in and out of my brain
never stopping once to mingle with others
to form sentences, meaningful.
Gap year
and another gap year.
Scores fire like bullets
and graze the cutoff
in brazen rebellion.
Posters line my walls in a spectrum of shades
but my room is ash-toned,the color of failure
the color of my parents’ faces
of the sepulchral cloud that hangs over us
everyday.
The voices, they get louder
needling my brain at first, like pesky insects
but they soon swell with derision
into an orchestra
deafening.
Drowning out the timid promises of hope,
they chant
this is not working out.
Asking me to grab a chair and a rope.
or a bottle of bleach from the pantry.
or even my dad's revolver.
Options.
Finally, options within reach.
Maybe
this would work out.
a sheaf of exam sheets
riddled in angry red circles describing
mistakes outnumbering my patience.
This is not working out.
The lessons, they feel like words.
Words swimming in and out of my brain
never stopping once to mingle with others
to form sentences, meaningful.
Gap year
and another gap year.
Scores fire like bullets
and graze the cutoff
in brazen rebellion.
Posters line my walls in a spectrum of shades
but my room is ash-toned,the color of failure
the color of my parents’ faces
of the sepulchral cloud that hangs over us
everyday.
The voices, they get louder
needling my brain at first, like pesky insects
but they soon swell with derision
into an orchestra
deafening.
Drowning out the timid promises of hope,
they chant
this is not working out.
Asking me to grab a chair and a rope.
or a bottle of bleach from the pantry.
or even my dad's revolver.
Options.
Finally, options within reach.
Maybe
this would work out.