Sunday morning means ghost town lobbies,
No barking dogs or cracking of doors,
It’s just me; playing with my blue inked pen,
Hiding behind this glass fortress,
Trying to write away my sadness,

I like to walk through my graveyard of unfulfilled dreams,
And listen to my breaking heart that grieves in silence,
Loneliness comforts me, its stays with me,
As I walk through what was or could have been,
Beautiful Sunday morning, I should be living the dream,

Yet, mascara paints my face,
A dark shade of grey that matches what I feel,
This high-ceiling glass fortress allows me to pace,
As I try to make my way through my thought maze,  
And the strong marble desk holds my hands up to my crying face,

Life is a journey, not a race,
This summer sun shouldn’t make my heart break,
Am grateful for that that only the ghosts reside in this morning hour,
They comfort me in knowing that perhaps there is more to this place,
And smile at me when they see my true face,  
They embrace the sadness my smile tries to erase,
Just few more minutes before I have to wear a mask on my face,
Before I have to smile and lie that I am Okay!