a melon melancholy
as the strands of sunlight
are strangled by gray
lending a sickly glow
to an unsightly monday
spent lamenting how
short two days seems
in comparison to the
two and a half times spent
in the pursuit of someone
else’s fucking dream

the chains of everyone’s
expectations grow rusted
in the perpetual rainfall
of half spat truths lost
in the torrents of tyranny
a tragedy tainting tomorrow
with tremulous tearblisters
tectonically tumblng into
the shadow of hope’s corpse