The Loathing Of A Monday
|There is pain in us all, feel it, express it, grow from it
A Man's Traveled Heart
Its Monday, I pull my sheets from my body with lethargic disappointment. My eyes gradually sinking to the floor to see the hurdled mess I must overcome. My throat dry, my mind in a groggy haze of sleep. And as I slide my feet to the floor the cool care nibbles at my skin.
I express my discomfort of the morning with a sigh of resentment. Pressing myself off my bed I stand with a slight slouch of the back. I start to walk, and as I walk I let my eyes tirelessly follow the smudges and scrapes that flourish the wooden floor.
It is still somewhat dark in the house. I mind it not as it keeps me in a state of dreamlike existence. As if I have yet to face the reality that is today. But as I enter the bathroom, I am forced to light the torch, instantly I regret its intense glow. Flickering shadows of my tired frame, my silhouette looking of a ghastly ghoul.
After resisting the aggravation of the light, I let my cowardly eyes adsorb the vile luminous flame. And now, I stand before my reflection. My hair, looking as if I am but a man of destitute, one whom is found drunk and passed out at the foot of ditch.
My eyes lined in black sacks of despair. And in my state of this loathing awakening, I turn the faucet to my sink. I stare with lonely eyes into my reflection and release a breath of distaste. And I begin to think how plain my life has become. Rising like the sun, only to come home to the moon. Never seeing even the slightest horizon crest the mountains.
I am trapped, in this body of terrible and doomed habits. Good am I, at the twiddling of my thumbs. Approaching each evening with a gasp of relief as I am relieved of my working duties. Constantly covered in the stains of my labor. My mind dripped in saline of limbo, I am a living dejavu.
And as these thoughts coat my morning with foul breath. I brush my teeth, foaming at the mouth I growl. A slight laugh exits my seething mouth. And for a moment, I am happy, I am over joyed in the expression of myself.
But quickly, does reality press its hand down upon me. Reminding me of what lies ahead of me. And quickly does the melancholy settle upon my chest. And once again, do I find my lips numb upon explanation.
Thank you for reading, do you find yourself struggling in the wake of Monday?
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