Something is wrong; I’ve discovered a terminal illness
That makes me sit in class with a death-like stillness
Leaving scars on my conscience; a limb must be severed
The remedy is bankrupt, despite my endeavors
It’s more than the curriculum, more than the students
More than the teacher, more than the prudence
Coffee allows me to engage, but it doesn’t mean I’m willing
If you call on me in class, I’ll give you a look so chilling
As I’m losing faith, my dipping grades don’t motivate
They don’t drive, they don’t excite, they actually tend to aggravate
Dreading the assignments, waiting the night through,
Push to midnight, push to morning, seldom do
Don’t save the burning building; better to evacuate
I’ve only a hose – this is a disaster for which I wait
A structure deficient, before it began, the battle was lost
A weak foundation lends to papers strewn, notes tossed.
Cat Zhang 