30 January 2013
First period, Sally sits on me, Does her work consistently, Never smiles, Never laughs. I let my mind ponder why, But then I relapse. It's not my business, Just my thoughts.
Second period, Matt shrugs, Puts his legs on top of me, That little bug. He doesn't do his work, He smells grotesque, His hair is matted, His pack's a mess.
Third period, Kate plops down, My seat she takes, She's much too big for me, My back soon will break. She lays her arms and raven hair On top of me I try to stop her, I squeak, But she's already asleep.
Fourth period, Hello, Dwight. He likes to talk And he likes to write. I consider him my best friend, He wipes away the dirt on my skin. I feel so new, I feel so clean, Thank you, Dwight, For making me pristine.
Fifth period, It's Jay's turn now, He pulls out his pencil And begins to sketch, Engraving marks upon my skin, Pain and torture, I'm bleeding within. But no, that cannot be, I am inanimate, you see. Us objects don't have feelings, Or do we?
Life Of A Desk • Opuss № I