Diamonds are Made Under Pressure

Two minutes.

The clock starts now.

Sweat drips down my brow.

I type furiously.

With my fingertips, I slam the keyboard.

I have one minute left.

My mind wanders over all of the subjects

I could touch upon.

The ridges of the keyboard

Are slowly worn down 

Because of this.

The bell rings.

It's time to go.

I barely finish.

I race to finish.

I lapse overtime as others around me pack up.

They talk about menial topics.

My heart starts to pound.

Adrenaline makes no sound

As it rushes through my brain. 

Like blood, I am stained.