Good afternoon,
my friend,
(hi)
how was your day?
It ******,
of course,
days are never good
when you're
drowning in math
swimming in chemistry
struggling at the surface of English
and floating in the deep end of Spanish.
Come home,
you think,
things are better after a rest,
but what rest?
There is no rest for the student,
who flounders in
papers that taste of salt
when they're thrown in the air
in frustration,
creating a breeze that whispers,
freedom
in a distant voice.
Good evening,
my friend,
(hiya)
do not ask me
What's up?
The sky is up
with my workload,
the papers stuck in the lamp
and behind a poster,
where I'll leave it
since at least I know where that is.