This morning passes as slow as the clouds crossing the sky
Sometimes the wind picks up and it scurries on past
For the most part though, it drags by
A slow winter wind in a cold classroom
The drone of a teacher whom most would consider nice
He is simply energetic and draws from me too much
I wonder if he draws from the other students
Do they feel the effects of it the same way I do?
I don’t know but I sit in the cold room
Feeling as frozen as the morning dew in January
And I wait for the day that I don’t have to return to this place
This cold, desolate place that haunts me