Finals Poetry

I know rhyming is cliché now in poetry.  Get over it. (The "bell" I refer to below is the bell tower at my school that plays a song or two every hour. The songs last 5 minutes.)

Finals are awful, of that much I'm sure
I find them unlawful, cruel, and absurd
While writing this I may sound like a nerd
Because my glasses are broken, my vision is blurred.

I'm worried about the week ahead
After which, my brain will be dead
What I've learned this semester cannot be said
I just know I want to sleep in my own bed.

I'm spending all my money on food
Which puts me in an angry mood.
And with all these tests I'm really screwed
(Except for the ones with the teachers I wooed).

Someone said this week will be hell
And although these tests will not be swell
The things I can't stand are, well,
All the songs played on that stupid bell.

Can you hear that pounding in my chest?
That is the sound of my heart getting stressed
It's all because of these stupid tests
Don't teachers see that we need a rest?

"Look over your notes, study them hard."
I can actually feel that my brain's getting scarred
It was burnt before, now it's charred
And it's shattered into little shards.

Studying gives me little sleep
And I can only study when there's not a peep
If I see something unknown, "What the (bleep)!"
And I throw all my papers into a heap.

I leave on Thursday. Not morning, but night
Until then, I continue to suffer and fight
My way through black text on paper of white
So that someday I'm able to witness the light.