Days Spent in Dark Stacks

An ink-stained index
finger will say nothing of
its perusal through

several subjects.
Weeks spent skimming along the edge
of a nine-to-five

fate are forgotten
when the moment has decided
a bloodletting via

paper is akin to
immortality. The edge
of a palm covered

in yesterday’s bland
arguments smear upon any
contact, but in more

ways than one written
words will remain. Traipsing alongside
muttered rhetoric,

position papers
as a shield, take a tumble
into prose and hope

the GPA reflects when
intelligence becomes the
quiet minority.