I am a Leaving Cert student this year.
My life's work rides on this  set of exams
So they say...

Currently, I'm trying to get my history notes on the Eucharistic Congress
(I've an essay due)
They're on the floor
And I can't get them
My fingers are being ******
And my chair can't go any further

I need to get them
So I can do the essay
So I can study.
So I can get out of this... hole!

But I can't get them
I need to ask for help
My father will sigh, get up and ask in a weary voice
'Anything else?'
He stops short of prostration
(Like Alexander ordered)

It kills me.

But what can I do?
Everywhere there are obstacles
Stuff in the way
And I can't reach my books
I can't do anything
Everywhere is stuff
mountains of mountains
of Stuff.  
An immutable, immovable  foe
That blocks the table

I wish to study.
I wish to do well
But I drown in Stuff
It suffocates me and leaves
No room for anything

My brother took less subjects
And studied so in school
He didn't care as much
Did not see his luxury

It pains me that I have the know-how
But cannot  coerce the Congress from the floor .

It pains me  so much
To feel that little Johnny never studies in the fresh, open, air,
And my desire to do so in my hole that is abyss