Life In Seven Lines

Looking at these clothes, remembering these tragedies, I realised that most of the items in my wardrobe were bought or kept as a direct result of a supremely shitty experience. I could pinpoint a negative association behind nearly everything hanging in front of me. No wonder getting dressed morning was an internal ordeal...

***

Everyone in the train carriage I'm in has a story.

I wonder what they're all hiding,

the same kind of thing as me maybe?

What secrets - and do they need someone to turn to them and say:

"Hey, you know what?

Even though you don't know me, and this will sound very strange -

It will be ok.

I've felt exactly the same, and one day you'll be free to start your life all over again."

I wonder. It is a possibility.

But it's not the sort of thing that you can just come out and say...

It seems to me that no one likes Monday -

and for Monday I am sad.

Monday didn’t choose to come first,

Or to bare the weight of the world on its no doubt buckled shoulders.

It's always Monday that gets the blame.

Without fail.

Why don’t we try being nice to Monday for a change?

Maybe Tuesday could take the fall this week,

or maybe it could be Wednesday?

Let’s give it a chance, come on,