Life tosses a conciliatory bone,
A string of tiny texts form a story,
Written in pages interwoven across the day.

But I'm still trapped in mid-week,
Looking forward through Wednesday's bars,
To a weekend's promised freedom.

I claim the night as my own,
But am cheated by the dawn,
Alone at the end of the rave.

With my summer spent,
And winter yet to be earned,
I finish my colourless breakfast solemnly.

My detoxification becomes a hollowing of the soul,
An empty vessel left listlessly on the sea,
Floating in an ocean of conspiracy.