It's six o'clock.
Six.
Sick.
I swear it was just three.
I sigh as the clocks keeps decieving.
I slide my books away, disgusted.
I sing to my iTunes, jamming.
I swig the last drops of water.
Empty.
I am streching cause I am cramped.
Someone see Catherine?
My stomach is singing a song of hunger.
My shoulders are singing a song of pain.
My signal is weak.
I want to sleep.
Should someone stressed sleep since strained students stand sleep-deprivived steadily?
Sweet.
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