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On the Fifth Day of Summer, My Friend Ran Away
I must have summeritis
For I am forced to remember
That problems have sustenance
And, though we cannot feel them,
They exist-
That they have eyes that stare into our souls-
But it feels like that
One
Problem
That I know I missed on the final,
And the “why?” is the second,
And that, though they be
Over and gone
Or yet to be bygone,
That missing two percent
Will haunt my perfectionistic,
Wholeness-craving mind
Though school is over and done.