500
monday has tentacle arms
and swallows deep.
i take another smoke break
even though i quit four years and 3 months ago.
you turn up the volume on the microphone
in hopes to kill some of the dead noise
with your voice.
i keep myself twiddling my thumbs,
shaking my feet,
bouncing my knees...
anything
just anything.
tomorrow will find me another bedside,
another exhaustion pipe and
green.
i can bring the Cathedral
to our dreams
if only you will pray for me.
and there you go
avoiding my fields of stains and
broken minds stuck in
repeat silences
that have you so wound up around pointless
that you brought a gun-
and i wonder if this is my misery
or is it yours?
stop stiffening the breeze and speak -
say anything
just anything
(so i can get to sleep).
