Wake up
It's Monday
Lace up your shoes
Walk out the door
No one to notice anymore
There's no one here anymore

Wake up
It's Tuesday
Makeup your face
Walk straight to work
To get a good tip just flirt
Smile so it doesn't have hurt

Wake up
It's Wednesday
Comb out your hair
Go through the rain
The wet can hide the pain
That's on your face in stains

Wake up
It's Thursday
Look in the mirror
Avoid your eyes
Don't listen to empty lies
To whispers in their eyes

Wake up
It's Friday
Brush your teeth
Swallow all fear
No one left to listen here
None to shout, ****, or jeer

Wake up
It's Saturday
Click out your notes
Play back the laughs
You've recorded in drafts
Not much ever seems to last

Wake up
It's Sunday
Button your dress
Go pray at church
Tell yourself it all has worth
How could it get any worse

Wake up
It's Monday
Lace up your shoes

My guess is that my lovers in London,
An entertainer of sorts
I bet she puts smiles on others faces & it brings her much joy.

It sure is a nice night to make new life.
I'm the luckiest man alive with you by my side.

I love how passionate you are & I respect your drive.
Just the thought of the curve of your smile makes me wild.
I intended for this to be short but this may take a while, I could go on for hours on out talking about the Queen, the Goddess, the one, who without no doubt is an angel sent from heaven made straight from the hands of God.

Together we'll have little angels of our own. The blood of you & I.

Monday was terrible.
Horrific.
I spent the day sulking on my lonesome and went home ready to erupt.
I could feel the slight tingle of tears threatening their way through my eyelids
Ready to pour over the second they perched open
But due to my lack of sleep last night
I doubt I could even build up the strength to open my glossy eyes
Even if I wanted to

In a weird sense
I enjoyed the mere thought of Monday being able to make me cry
I almost laughed
Or screamed
Or both

A year ago today
Everyday was a Monday to me
Everyday went horribly
Everyday made me come home crying and lock myself in my room
I was so used to that constant repetitive torture
That Monday appeared to be no different than any other day
Monday was just... It.
Tuesday was "it"
Wednesday was "it"
Thursday was "it"
Friday was "it"
Even Saturday and Sunday were "it"

But now, today
Monday is distinct
In a horrifyingly gruesome way
And this tear-jerking unsatisfying Monday gave me hope

Monday made me cry
Tuesday did not
Wednesday did not
Thursday did not
Friday did not
Not even Saturday or Sunday made me cry
Only Monday made me cry
Only Monday

Just as Monday made 7 billion other humans cry
On this torturous inescapable earth
It also made me cry

And that gave me hope that maybe I really am normal
Or I can be
Or I will be

Because Monday is unbearable for everyone
And Monday is unbearable for me
And the rest of the week is alright for most people
And it was alright for me
And Saturday and Sunday are fun for most people
And Saturday and Sunday were fun for me

Somewhere
Deep inside my clouded, muddy mind
I caught a glimpse of hope
That maybe
There is hope for me
Maybe I am cured
Maybe I can be
Maybe I will be

I refuse to let the party die
I never want the high to go away
The thrill of being able to say,
What you want to say

And in that moment
You figure out
That you're drunk,

Come, monday
You'll be in a single, twin bed
Waking up to a phone alarm
Wondering how you ended up here
Miles away from home

Netflix & chill is a must.
We laugh & we touch.
Could this be love or is it lust?
What if this just isn't destined for us?
It's you that I want.
It's you that I trust.
Don't keep those feelings bundled up to yourself.
I'm here to help, cause you're the one.
You own the crown & the belt.
You're top shelf.
You're the love of my life.
My moon & my stars.
Can I be your sun & light, just for tonight?
With me everything is alright.
I am your knight in shining armor down on one knee hoping you'll take a chance on me.

I'm not taken aback by the beauty of the sun or moon.

But that's okay, at least I've learned in time that there are very little differences between objects labeled mine and days considered wasted time. Entitlement is a false concept paralleling a religious purgatory.

That's not the point anyways. I'm left with unbearable heat and a pool of thoughts best resembling some sort of molten pudding left out in the sun for weeks of stifling inattention.

Let it just be known that the smell was not my intention.

Regardless of what fills your nostrils ephemerally, keep in mind that this stench haunts me perpetually. It's apathy towards my sensitive skull stifles me. It's as if I was able to just shake off these shadow-inducing invaders like a bad habit. But no matter how much you try to **** a shadow, it's always there following you. Breathing on you. Casting oxygen upon your neck until there's nothing but sweat and fear left to expose.

With such an affinity to what darkness lies behind me, there are few words to authentically compose.

How can I continue? How can the beat stay in rhythm and my words stay in tune when I'm a butterfly stuck in a cocoon? If these hollowed walls could speak I bet they'd entertain the idea on meaningless entrapment.

Go now. My words for this horrid state of mind have run dry. They do nothing but mask themselves and then exponentially multiply.

So leave me for the beauty of the sun and the moon. I'll never wish anything more than a simple, concurrent release of everyone from his or her respective cocoon.

Debits on the left credits on the right
balancing such wastefull transactions
debits on the left credits on  the right
hating myself for youthful actions
debits on the left credits on the right
Who told you about job satisfaction?

I know it's cliché  
*But **** Monday

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