A thousand notes,
lying on the floor.
None seem to enter,
my memory's sacred door.

A tornado of words,
spinning in my brain.
The forced study,
causing me much pain.

'No longer'
I always want to say.
Fully aware,
that I'll never see such a day.

This mist of words
which robs me of my sleep,
gives me only 2 days-
to cover for the entire week.

How can I cram
this all in my head,
When I'd rather run
and be found dead.

What kind of person
made this misery and hell,
That starts in the morning
with the sound of a bell.