…fucking mondays

Blurry red eyes

weep for sunlight and

warmth and this sickness

burns brightest in

the dark.

This is a what

surrounds us,

simply and

tragically.

And it kills

me to think

I am a part of it.

I have no choice in the

matter

and neither do they,

nor you.

Unless becoming

a street sleeping

booze machine

counts.

Grim, early darkness

tight trousers

pressed shirts

and misery,

or become scum.

Those are the choices we face.

Dive my friends

Dive and fucking

soar.

Search for it

in between the

lines.

It must exist

that elusive thing

known

as escape.

I’ll search till I die

and if I find it,

I may decide to share it

with

you.

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