Monday means the death of daydreaming,
The obliteration of all of my good intentions
That I leave behind sleeping in the
Warm indentions in my futon with my cat;
I straddle the line they've drawn in the sand,
Squinting defiantly into the sun,
My shadow nonexistent in the subtle moments
When the world stands still,
To lie down would be to drown
In the rapture of exhaustion
That tethers us to preconditioned need
And desire for a plasticized martyrdom
Enforced by the spiritless, the soulless,
And the lame.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...