The burning of eyes late in the afternoon.Longing for those convivial feelings,One knows exists in the distance of time.Friday is what all say the day is calledYet this feels untrue untill the day itself is near its end.A waste?The day waited on for so long.A silence comes across the room whenThis thought enthralls the mind.Such joy in the morning!Yet one feels nothing near thisUntil late late in the afternoon.

Bullets cut through the air.
Making noise that would drop Napoleon to his knees.
This night has turned into a screaming prayer for death.
Forgetting the definition of pleasure.
Dealing with the immanentism of pain.

Dwelling in this world unknown to most,
Has become common place to one.
So common to which lacrimation has become all too ordinary.
Come to find out this is all nothing more than
MONDAY.

Today Feelings are dense
Seperable? yes, but by no average surf
The air is quiet.  All noise comes from within.
Plenty of noise it is though.

Excitement is present,  it is quite busy.
For fear needs to be fought off repeatedly.
No one feeling is dominant in this marsh of inner thoughts.
Nothing gets done, for focus is ungraspable.

These thoughts would be dangerous to follow
If one could see clear enough to do so
For it has not yet been determined,
Upon what side most thoughts lay.