Class is cold, quiet, and dark,
Just the way I like it.
The lights turn on once in a while,
they make me nervous.
I sit,
on the floor with work in my lap.
I study but I don’t pay attention.
I work hard,
I read.
Where am I?
Poetry
Likes
1063 Views
Share:
2 Likes | 0 comment
2 Likes | 1 comment
0 Like | 0 comment
0 Like | 1 comment