50 Minutes

I wrote this yesterday during our Macroeconomics class. I was bored and feeling melancholic, hence the result

When the sun has begun to set
And her twisted mind started to pirouette
She thought of the shiny little shells
That time has thrown inside those deep dark wells

Hundreds and thousands of hours have left
Even her heart thinks it's some kind of theft
In her inside appears another well
Drowning her entirely like she's in hell

On the back of her head it's not the same
A whisper insists it's extremely lame
Not to care for herself but for the shells
And even more her stomach swells

Fixing her gaze back upon the sun
She worn herself out that she can't even run
Exhaustion won as reality steps back in
After that 50 minutes of gloom she was in

Author's Note

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