Poetry of sorts

Tired

Picture this, a day so very bright,
but a midnight so very dull.
Where's the light?

Well...
the light will not shine
for the next couple of nights.

For I must work,
work till I drape from tiredness.
So I will smile from my quirk,
of staying up very late,
and decide if staying up should be a debate.

Maybe if I work,
the work would somehow disappear.
Vanishing,
as if it were never here.

But with great sadness,
the work won't disappear from my teachers,
to my absolute madness.

I'll work hard though,
to complete,
the few work that I find so very tiresome and bleak.