I hate weekdays and I hate weekends too



And so
I will rise 

From unsettling somnambulation that wove through shadowy spectres of my unconscious 
From  violent vacant visions and slow dance Macabre hunting beneath Lunar glow

I will

Scratch silent the repeat of the turning table and let the rhythm be
Let limbs launch me into the ache of awake and march 1,2,3, 1,2,3 into empty


I scribble another cliche on a page that delivers only sighs or the aversion of eyes
As lonely as its producer, pumped out like a mass made grief

And so

Lids blink and fingers sink into heavy and disappear into my thinking
Tea. Tea is made and I crease not a smile for weekend’s masquerade

  • Author: sylviasearcher (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 30th, 2023 15:14
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13


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