Health Class

A sweaty-toothed madman of my very own
At least he shaves his madman beard
With large glasses that make him an insect
A bug unsure of how to teach us
He murmurs, mutters, speaks clearly
But his message is incoherent to me
I am forced here, not here by choice
There is no mirth to being here
A cell, no bars, but still a cell
Wooden walls with histories on them
"He and She forever" etched in...and worse...
The closeness of the students and our madman
He looms over us with malicious intent
"There is a test tomorrow.  Cackle.  Grumble.  Mutter."
Muttering truth, truth that knocks down walls
The wooden walls that...crush...us...
While we kick...and scream...and wail...