United States
37° 45' 5.148" N, 121° 8' 53.2608" W

Phony smiles play at tired lips
Passing through the halls hearing whispers unspoken
Sitting at a desk, feet shuffling impatiently against the floor
Constant glances thrown at a clock whose arms move more slowly by the second
There is no escape when the prison is within you
Discomfort is a thing of the past
Replaced by pain and a lack of drive
Fear that someone will pick you out in the crowd
Addressing your paranoia gets you nowhere
The nerves seem to spread from each fingertip
Up to your head and down to your toes
Heat and acid writhing in the pit of your stomach
The bell rings and you launch out the door
Never to look back
Until next class period approaches
And the torture begins again


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741