A Levels

An arguably dramatic account of A levels. However, they were bloody horrendous.

This routine world is not for me

 A tick of the box- why can’t you see

That jumping hoops is a pointless task?

 No flair is shown, behind that mask

This mask I speak of eats your face

The stick you bite, a sour taste

Alien to the warm embrace

of life beyond our trace, trace, trace.

You trace away for old times’ sake

The lies of what I know as fake

Oh how we all will rue the day

That deathly time of year is May

May, the time where progress halts

The constant inkling that so revolts

Informs the being to look beyond

Expand one’s self, explore Le Monde.

The spoon will soon resist its feeding

Thank fuck I say, my soul is bleeding