the weight of the days,
weeks, months, years,
crush me
and all i can see
is the tiresome monotony
sound, speak, repeat
click clack of the keyboard
strum of guitar
whir of the milk i steam
metal pitcher, pull the shot
latte's made
and studying
biology, trigonometry, literature
then off to the real world
a piece of paper, i qualify
to live my life
work forty hours a week
just like before
but a desk,
papers, a phone number,
and pens with my name engraved...
i feel each of these days to come
and i don't want
any of them.