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On the Fifth Day of Summer, My Friend Ran Away
I must have summeritis
 For I am forced to remember
 That problems have sustenance
 And, though we cannot feel them,
 They exist-
 That they have eyes that stare into our souls-
 But it feels like that  
 One 
 Problem
 That I know I missed on the final,
 And the “why?” is the second,
 And that, though they be
 Over and gone
 Or yet to be bygone, 
 That missing two percent
 Will haunt my perfectionistic,
 Wholeness-craving mind
 Though school is over and done.
