It\'s time.
Time to trudge down that mossy corridor,
Nudging past countless
Others
Maybe having the best day of their lives;
Or their worst.
Time to step into that earth-oriented classroom
And sit
At the long desk at the front.
Long enough for six
Yet empty, save for me.
Time to roll my pen across my
Shaky
Fingers, as if I\'m not
Silent, while the world carries on
Laughing.
Time to let my hair fall down
Across my paper face,
Although I usually
Hate
When it does that.
Time to tell myself that I can
Deal with this.
But while my hair can hide them from
The world,
It can\'t hide my
Tears
From myself.