The Week Ends on Monday

 

I chuckle
Not because of what you said
But because
Of how wrong you are

Friday is Anguish.
The week has been cruel
I have finished my acting
quota.

Saturday is Alone.
All but abandoned
by myself
Face glowing blue, to escape.

Sunday is Hope.
That next week will be better
That someone might ask
“Are you OK?”

But no one ever does
Because I hide it too well
A cardboard cutout among statues
Who appear two dimensional.

Blame them
Blame myself
In the end it’s the same
And by Friday I want out.

 

 

 

 

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