There you sit, just tick-tack-typing
At your desk,
Thinking you should’ve learned to type,
As the hours slip away like
Crumpled whispers from dying lips,
Softly-rustling papier-mâché birds
Flapping off into the dark.
It’s blood and strife makes tick-tack-type, to
Get this right. Who would have
Guessed it would be so hard?
Writing words, after all, not