Don't know why I'm sitting here,
I question who I'm doing this for.
Is this what I dived into,
As I double over to stare at the floor.
Text books roar with laughter,
Their codes mean nothing to me.
I sometimes wish I'd been a painter,
Then from legislation I would be free.
Pen runs out as my eyes close,
Inspiration tumbles off the page.
Barriers that no-one else built up,
Clamp tight to hold in my rage.
Casual failure burns like acid,
Retake the time you can't get back.
Paper controls your wage slip,
While confidence fades to black.
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