Every second passes by with signs of boredom.
Tightened diaphragm to loosen out the morning air that wasn't prepared to be stretched in for the dusty lungs.
Every course is like this, a tiring lecture in front of zombies that cannot chew without nerves of numbness.
Twisted ribcages are what we learn, to sit in patients, letting it teach our distractions.
Every passing year is a failure, until one closure of detail is enough to achieve an average to fight away the pills for that neverending day.
Aching minds are what we cope with, to follow the rhythm from our cold-hearted veins, to us aging within desks.
Every class is like this, a time bomb waiting to erupt in front of zombies but cannot be tamed at early evening.
Chasing disorders, letting them sink in, teaching sleep patterns, to repeat the next zombie wave.