It's being told to go to bed at three in the morning.
It's a stained mug of coffee,
refilled again as you wonder,
"When did I last eat?"
and then carried into your room,
sat next to a bag of chips and a used-up pen.
It's walking into school the week before and slipping into a haze of equations and dates.
It's a binder full of papers that you swear you just cleaned out,
notes on topics you've forgotten,
memos from the principal about events long gone
which you read because they're a distraction.
It's sprinting home because a second spent away from your books is a second wasted.
It's finally getting home and crying out,
"Who gives a ****!"
as you stare at an equation
for the flight path of a spherical chicken,
for the synthesis of some chemical from some other chemicals.
It's missed club meetings and missed socialization.
It's misery in it's purest form.
It *****.