Tuesday. one of those days-
you forget you should be thankful to be alive.
reminints of oxygen filtering through the smog.
You awake at noon, and the fact is elusive:
this is not your death bed.
you have 24 hours to waste and complain.
to snap at peaople who dont deserve it. to cheet and lie.
Wednesday. a day that could never come.
the story ending on page 99.
before its happy ending.
Thursday? hopes for the future.
The ending you wish would come.
rarely do you predict all your thursdays will get lost in a world of tuesdays.
I will forever be waiting, angry at life,
taking what isnt mine, and hating myself.
spending years and years of endless tuesdays.
This Tuesday I will take the bike, in fishnets and a grey coat.
with some cardboard and pack of cigarettes-
to the lynnwood transit center. I will sit on my ass,
and ask for their change. I dont have a job,
and Im not in school. Ive stole from my family, and used my friends...
yet the world is in debt to me.
and nothig is ever enough.
I havent used in three days, If I still havent by the fourth...
maybe a pact with the devil can be made.
Trees and ocean, and red red romance.
with poets, and singing angels would be nice.
But such things are left only for thursdays.
...Its mondays I cant remember.
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