It was Sunday and you asked me to stay but I never meant to linger here for so long, so I pulled back, retreating from my line you tried to cross

Smiling, so you wouldn't taste the hesitation on my lips,
talking louder to hide my hasty breath,
giving you sweet promises of nothing, pouring it out like syrup on those pancakes I never stayed for

And I don't think I've ever needed Monday as much as when I walked home, self-starved, carrying all my weight and bricks with my sticky fingers