Sunday’s candle is done.

Sunday came like a butterfly opening its wings,
It was no longer a worm it could fly,
I opened the morning like a can of baked beans,
It was messy and there was a pain in my eye.

I probably had too much fun the night before,
My friends, and I were celebrating the World Cup.

We have dark memories in us that surface,
When we are just floating on a sea of regrets.
I walked out towards the Sun letting the light in.
Then I thought I should be walking the other way,
Into the darkness away from the light. 

I looked back at the girl on the grass bleeding to death.
There was a knife in my hand with her blood on it.

Our marriage had been a mistake,
We were too young to know about responsibility,
She said I was a coward who lied to her.
She got angry and hit me in the eye with a frying pan.

I reached out and stabbed her in the heart.
Sunday closed like a coffin lid with the Police banging on the door.