This Monday

The city is locked to Charlie and everything is behind those walls. There is a man with a knife under the table and a lady with 3 more days to live. A child crying for their father and a grandmother too tired to stand. A lady up the street swaying on her leg and a man on the 3rd street laying on the grass, arms outstretched as if he’s never had 8 hours of sleep.

When the plants lean on each other, we stand alone and then we fall. We fall deep into gossips and arguments and talks, about fairness when our temperature is just right. The grass lay low and the arrogant people gather around, inside the white fence where no one could judge.

Emma and all her friends were wearing different garments in different shades on the same palette. They sit around in restaurants and look through the window at the less fortunate, they paint their nails and touch the table without a fingerprint, they are here and then they are not until they are in the fridge.

They say cut down Masons salary so he would want less so to never disturb, but Mason want more and more when the numbers are falling off the tags. No one is sitting on the bench instead they add another zip to the ear, glasses to watch away the trap of engaging in things they would like to do much later; than 6 in the morning.

Courtney is trapped in colours and posing the way they want her to. Audiences when she’s tired and a boss that is never there, long queues in the restaurant and orders made unclear. When Courtney messes up the order then she has to go to the toilet to shove a finger down her throat; she gets lighter as if she were never there.

Then pushed into your hand was an order that spilled down your shirt, it’s hot liquid run down your body and the fight to leave is stuck down your managers throat, it comes out in barks of abuse, your next payment is uncertain.

There is a rope for Ians neck but the branch turned it into art, instead of hanging in pain he looked to it for wisdom. He asked, how strong is a rope if you’ve never been on it, and it answers him with silence, making him its master. You feel the power now the need to live for a reason, a day to spend under the rope without an arm reaching.

Whyatt could see just enough when he asked why he does things, there’s no window into his soul when hes drunk and useless.

And for the people who look to Wyatt for someone to relate to, they walk right pass him without a glance as if he were invisible. Confirmation to his brain to take another swig and the cycle continues until he was held at knife point.

If there’s gravel in your throat it’s better when you don’t speak, it’s better to be sad than happy so you could control the way you think. If waves come then your life is true and you’re here to live with me and my brothers and sisters too.

Frozen behind the glass and all your phone calls in customer service, you’re speaking to tall glass of whiskey and blurry lenses; in the morning when you wake up you will have anxiety for breakfast and gravels for water in the shower this Monday.

Your brain will tell you a story of pure doom, the house will burn down and you left the stove on, how could you?