Nerves.
Nerves.
When it’s 7:56pm and you have a god-knows-how-long scientific paper due tomorrow at one. You’ve had all week, but Lord knows you haven’t started.
Nerves.
You know you should be working but
Facebook.
Facebook.
Google+.
What can you do? You don’t feel like work. No work for you. None. And in the back of your mind…
NERVES!
NERVES!
You’re new here, trying to find your own way, and you find out half your friends hate you, and the other half just put up with you.
Nerves.
And you’re sitting here, head pushed into your hands. You weren’t always like this: acting strange, looking haggard, telling grave lies for no reason.
NERVES
And you used to be so smart, so keen, so lovable, and you could read people like the back of your hand. And now you’re growing gross and fat and old, and you’re only 17, like you hardly need reminding. Can’t do nothing, nothing at all. What with everyone being adults and
NERVES NERVES NERVES!
What are you to do? No one likes you. You don’t know what you’re doing. Med school? Ha! Did you really think things would be different? Did you think things would be different from high school? You’re going to flunk out. And now you’re sitting here writing a stupid poem/rant/nothing/who-the-fuck-knows-what-this-is when you should be improving your grade or repairing your friendships or writing your goddamn science paper like you should be fucking doing in the fucking first place. And now your mother’s texting you, and she wants to know how you’re doing. But you can’t tell her. You can’t. Because you CAN’T let her know how much she was right.
You CAN’T let her know that you’ve failed.
You CAN’T let her know you’ve been lying. You’re a liar, a liar. A big fat liar. You tell these lies, LIES! Horrible lies. Rape, rape, rape. Trying to explain it. Trying to fix it up. Trying to explain this hurt, this pain, this confusion, this rape, yes RAPE! of your everything from two simple months in a simple place. How can your life be ruined from something so simple.
what
can
you
do?
nerves nerves nerves