Social Death and Brain Abuse

The fine print is reading rest in peace

asking if I comprehend

I’m donating my brain

and they need permission to administer

21 units of substance

my heart climbs up in my throat,

constricting and convulsing;

lungs suffocated by my thoughts

burdened by books of biased words, and

sinking in stacks of stapled papers

I sign

21 units

wading through war-zones of un-washed  laundry

knee-high and wasting in the ground

mixed with smells of last week’s dirt and grime

from both the humid heat and the death of time.

The plague of Troy fogs my eyes as                       ENGL44H             MW 

Freud strikes a fire and fries my mind,                  PSYCH1                TBA

slowly peeling away delectable layers   

to taste the fear of failure as I lie,

mastering my female anatomy                                HLED4                   TBA

while telling tall tales with little words                   ENGL 27B              Th

that tickle the tongues of those thirsting                ENGL 27A              W

for something to compute in labs where               CPAS10                  TBA

tables have no use for chairs

but provide communication.                                   COMM10                M

21 units of venom sink and slither slowly

until that’s all I am,

fearing falling asleep in the battle-field of class

while running with no breaks

along dotted lines with the zig-zag of my name

signing away my life

just for the semester.