This is an old poem from long before I got serious about it. It aimed more humor than any type of form. A true story from college too. Though the last line doesn’t really hold true.
Stuck in class
Breakfast now long dead
I feel my stomach twist
Forcing me to stumble
As I traverse the snowy quads
I know I have to make it
Back to my simple room
Where salvation waits
Inside a holy carton
The last ration of my week
Until I make it to the store
I can almost taste it
The chocolate frothy drink
Giving me the strength
To live until the lunch bell
Imagine my despair
When the holy carton is no more
I find it drained
And crushed inside the trash
With the criminal still near
Licking his lips
As he reads a gamer mag
The faint smell of chocolate
Hovering on his breath
That I smell across the room
My rage tries to rise
To overcome my stomach
That saps me with every gurgle
A mild debate ensues
And the war begins
Continuing to this very day







