Sunday to Monday

As I walked in,
Made my way,
Back to the place,
That once was,
My seat,
My home,
Thy all welcomed me,
In such a way,
That I knew once again,
What I had missed when,
I forgot why,
I went every week,
For I can see now,
It has nothing to do,
With you, with him,
With anyone there,
Merely with me,
For I like to be,
In the mids of this brown,
Warm and corny place,
Getting myself intoxicated,
On other people's breath,
And being killed by,
Their exhale of smoke and sad stories,
That I long to have,
Lingering on my skin,
Only so the next morning as I wake,
I can forsake,
That today will be,
The day to come.

May your coffee be strong and your Monday be shot.

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