Mondays
Produce in me
The nostalgia
The Plethora
Of what I’d like to be

Mondays
The ones that smell of winter
When headlights barely are of use
And graveyards
Become homes
To more than just those bodies

Mondays
Gave way to Sundays
Or maybe it was Tuesday
But Who’s to say?

Mondays
I wish I was the kind of person that could wish for one honestly
I believe that if you can hope for a Monday, and be delightful in the fact that another week has begun...Well, perhaps that’s when you know you’ve reached serenity...or is it insanity?
Mondays
Aren’t as bad as we seem to twist them to be. Though they do make me restless, no, excuse me, that’s everyday.
Mondays
Aren’t as tough as we’ve painted them to be. I’d like to make them beautiful, despite the muddied colors.
Why do I forget.