Monday
The day is boring. I am folded.
Afraid I won't make it?
But I know I will.
Just no excitement. And it takes everything
To get used to it.
I'm passionate I'll master stillness;
The irony a thick pot
On my painted walls.
Tough to admitĀ
But there's only me to be ashamed of.
All day I'll think think and think thatĀ
And it won't do any good.
All the same, the days passing in front of me.
Worse than bad TV.
I want to be seduced by madness.
Want the yoghurt to be rich creamĀ
And books to sustain me.
I'm nervous something tracks me,
An old enemyĀ
Who thinks they know me better than I know myself.
I think they tell tall talesĀ
To anybody willing to listen.
I think too highly of myself?
If it's true I need to be taken down a peg
Then there's obsession in discoveringĀ
I don't take to kindness so well.
Then again I'm overly negativeĀ
And my imagination is killing.
Ā
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Comments
What have you described here? Unlived days fraught with demons. ( relateable)
... and the horror is it becomes more comfortable to 'unlive' than live because living doesnt satisfy the hunger anymore anyway. If I've read it right.
'I want to be seduced by madness'
one of many great lines.
You should write more x
Ā
This is magnificent poem of reflection, kudos dear Rory. š¹
I feel like this most Monday mornings ... because Monday starts the working week. I don't mean to make it sound trivial, it's not trivial and I hope all is well with you x