The new week (short poem)

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Morningtime,

Mondays should be a crime

Tuesday is Monday’s cruel sister.

Much like the sunburn’s blister.

Laying in bed not wanting to face the day

phone unplugged and shades drawn

wishing it would all go away.

Pillow over the head,

so silent and alone.

Loud that bladder screams.

Tile floor is cold.

This gets old.

Day has started.

Damn it all.

©2015 Dash McCallen all rights reserved

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