i think this whole feeling just sucks.
like knowing it's coming yet it's not
knowing it's drawing nearer
it's ending
yet it seems like this is limbo
time seems to have stood still yet it's merely in transition
the paper's hurtling my way yet i'm not prepared
my mind just can't focus
i'm dreaming of all the things i'll be doing
or i can do
even if i'm not dreaming
i still can't focus
books of great writing and ideals no longer draw me
it's this sense of repulsion that causes me to shudder when i think of the books and even more when i think of the paper.

this is my weakest paper.

i
'm
sinkin


save me.







it's not how well you start but how well you
end