Monday mornings we're meant to
be sat down, handed coffee, and weakened.
I didn't know you wanted to be heard.
I wrote my headline for you.

Tuesday mornings are the equivalent
to the morning after, sudden and hungover.
I should have known you were decomposing.
I moved waters for you.

Wednesday evenings I had the time to cry.
I had the time to clean up my act
and to forget the morning.
You should have seen my bones.
I was starved for you.

Thursday nights felt like I could take
boat rides, through the seas of lovers lost
and lovers dead.
You should have felt how corrupted I was.
I sold my soul for you.