Solemn Sunday

Before Sunday comes to the end of its walk

and reaches the doorstep of Monday’s dark home, 

I crawl, tucked tightly, across a choking mattress

and curl deeper into the weight of feeling alone.

Like a ship’s anchor released prematurely,

there’s a sudden jerk of movement, a twang of pain,

a black, throbbing orb strangled terribly in my chest,

twisting closed the arteries and drying out tired veins.

It is deprivation to the fullest, affected foremost

by sharp isolation and slow abuse to the soul;

when a bird’s wings are clipped, a rose’s waist slashed,

and when water stings once impassioned coal.

In this space, oxygen is a second necessity,

losing value to the longing for a wholesome embrace,

the distant ointment to a wound inflamed by neglect

while all energy is focused on painting the “neutral face”.

This solemness goes deeper than ocean floors,

further still than the Earth’s tear-stroked ledge,

down through basement galaxies and faraway moons,

beneath bottomless holes and the universe’s edge.

Silently, that heavy, heavy pressure cultivates,

where light cannot touch and lethargy hotly bakes;

as my fingertips trace between creases in the bedsheet,

it hurts just to wonder how tomorrow I’ll wake. 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Kay,
this hits a nerve...i remember days, so many...weekends in which i felt simply lost, hoping Monday would come soon so i could resume a busyness that would override the feeling of loneliness.
Where i could once again find a way to immerse myself, and not be left thinking too much.
j.

[Kay]

Hey Jacob, thanks so much for your review! I can completely empathize with that, it feels like the weekend is really just Saturday with Sunday's anticipation of Monday's blues.