The words blur in and out as he struggles to concentrate. He brings the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing ruthlessly, and even more so after an eyelash stings him. When he brings his hands back down to rest on the keyboard of his laptop, the brightly glaring screen seems impossibly more out of focus. The one-eyed camera embedded into the frame seems to chide him. Well? You've been sitting idly for well over an hour now. It's not going to read itself. Pale red lips-- nearly bruised from how he worried at them--twist into a frown. I'm trying! His eyes glaze over the same sentence over and over again, but his brain refuses to soak it in. His efforts were like those of a snake trying to slither on glass. Pointless.
The maximum of the function follows the prosperity phase and indicates the highest levels of economic activity.
He's seen each word before; it's not like he doesn't know what they mean. He feels like his consciousness hit the "eject" button and left his skull to fend for itself, empty and fogging over. Come back, he pleads. Doing nothing is so tiring. Guilt stomps a tango in his stomach, and he's hit with a dry nausea all over again.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Open To Interpretation
PoesíaThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
