Amber threads of silk surround me and cling to my clothes, as I
reach for more of them with my right hand and shove my face into
my left, as if to protect my brain from the daggers being jabbed
into my amygdala by essays, reports, and the ever-looming threat
of exams that promise to ruin my life should I pen a comma out of
place. I want to stop and maybe persue that which I have learned
has a lovely chemical property of reacting with tears to create
endorphins, but there is no place for emotion in a system rife
with sciences and maths and that spits on beauty. Although I have
long studied the properties of tears, I have not done the same to
my brain in ways that don't pertain to its anatomy, and thus
the liquid seeps from my eyes inadvertently, smudging the word
pleurer while I continue to conjugate my group one
verbs.