Pencils tapping,

Children laughing; 

to jokes that were never spoken

It's just busy work.

There are no windows see

my mind plays tricks on me, 

having imaginations like movies

It's just busy work.

I've heard birds fly outside,

whispers of play tempt me to fly beside,

but gravity grounds me back my submission.

Its just busy work.

Am I unique?

when every answer is the same there is no point to search and seek.

In the halls I've lost myself.

It's just busy work

I dream of success,

It's somewhere, somewhere among this mess,

but it's dependent upon what feels like a strangers legacy.

It's just busy work.