Die Till Monday

Jabbering nibbling wasted ideas
Fighting, tormenting, killing one another.
Stupid phone calls, angry barking.
Feeling shameful,
Useless feeling.
Why would this happen, today, tomorrow,
Yesterday, years before and years after.
Tired of anger, ready to howl,
Blow away all the sand castles and turn hearts into stones,
and then break the stones, and turn them into sand,
and build castles and lock them in it. Let them sleep and wait.
Burning Sun. Strong wind – carrying away my vigilant thoughts, turning them into nothing.
Oh, the sweet nothingness of being,
Being locked in the heart -shaped box of the miserable unreciprocated existence.
Self-pity equation of self-humiliation,
for how long should I sniff the smoking barrel, pointed at my head by the left hand
of the anger driven society, claiming to be mad not itself,
but the multitude of those who find themselves within and, alas,
becoming the similitude and a cowardly bunch.
Cowardly and arrogant in a joyfully sweet manner,
until the last rooster cock-a-doodle-doos about the last kiss on the cheek
by the betraying lips of a soft whisperer, thinking
he will survive and will be able to live on as if nothing’s happened.
Die till Monday. Die.
Do not face another day, another week. Strangle it within,
Do not show up anymore.