Saturday, 14 July 2012

Bad swimmer

I am

Water seeps into my unwelcome
lungs and forces out the
wanted air
bubbles are rising to the surface of
mournful Mondays that
spin on the axis of this ridiculous
existence, which we
repeat, without question.

Mondays always come.

I’m waving arms – high above my head
My fingers rise and sink into the blue
and I am unsure of why
I remain invisible to you.
Here I am!


I am drowning, and screaming to you
but we were long trained to
Tame these voices
With accolades and accomplishments
Of a more material nature

All those Mondays have bought us
In each room hangs photos of
our Orchestrated joys
calling to me,
Look ! See 
how happy
My Monday’s make me !

But I was made for other things
Dreams and clouds and
Lying next to you for days on end
Bathed in sun and summer slumber
for my soul is only permeable to love.

I forgot to tell him,
That I can’t swim.
And most magnificent mansions
make seas of emptiness.

So I’m drowning.

In Mondays that always come
and all they manifest.
but, it may be too late, to say it–So make sure you use the really happy photos
To stand in my stead
At the funeral.

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