Monday
four o' clock in the morning,
i'm feeling like a slob;
the alarm says that i must go,
to face this horrid job!
the weekend's all a tease,
just when i'm good and lax;
monday beheads my shallow pride,
like an executioner's axe!
my eyes are swollen crusty,
my breath's a putrid stench;
saliva soaks a beaten pillow,
my energy lies in a trench!
i dread each day of monday,
as i drag myself to the shower;
my nerves are like an itchy rash,
my attitude's vague and sour!
out the door i go,
to battle a huddled freeway;
monday is just the beginning,
where in the hell is friday?!!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
