Beating up is how I feel today,
since I grasp to be really sleepy.
Perceiving needing to then pray,
it's sad: I'm sensing, really ******.
I'm keeping my head up, slowly,
because I'm enduring to be tired.
Having me then did feel *****,
I don't need my parents, required.
Holding up my really slow head,
is really, just indeed, truly hard.
I’d thought to stay back in bed,
but Mom and Dad will not guard.
I don’t know why I'm so drained.
Washed-out is how I currently feel.
It’s hard to keep my wiped brain.
That's how I hope that it can heal.
This actually has 100 words, as my other works do, while in ABAB form.