It's been a rough week.

Sunday,

wake up. give me a cigarette,

to put a smoke buffer between me and the

loop inside my head. 

it creeps into my bones, and sallows

my pride and I'm left yellow and green

inside our black silk bedsheets,

flipping around like a diver off the high board.

I feel like I'm some sort of imp hanging upside down in a tree.

But I'm real happy, because I've got 

all my naughtiness out and I'm doing pretty well.

Monday,

wake up. Give me bright eyes,

so I can see through my damaged pride.

Maybe a stick too, so I can hide and hide and hide

and hide. I want to see the sun

set over the china-blue mountains

and taste the sweet sweat the the tip of my tongue as

I forge through the bamboo bushes and pandas to

a vantage point high above the sea. 

Where I can want to breathe, if I so want to do so.

Tuesday,

wake up. Give me a quill and will

to understand. Don't take my shoulders 

and tell me to be strong

I can cry and cry if I want to. All along

the brazen shores gold cast iron swings and oak double doors.

Invite me in, and we'll chat and drink

colored drinks laced with gin.

Then chokes up my spine,

and I like to close my eyes, so I can't see.

So I can't think, then I walk into a lamp post and sing bloody mary! Oh why, oh why, and oh why again.

Thursday,

wake up. Give me a map so

I can work out where I am. Stuck in glass

elevators with a bunch of chorus girls all dressed up with neon

plumage super-glued high to their sparkling tiaras and I feel so out of place

and yet I feel so safe. It's their dancing, it draws me in. Like

a whirl pool full of flames. They surround, all around me 

and the doors open up, with a flourish and then I'm there.

With flowers in my hair, and this dream is going crazy, the t-rex is at the door

and the beggars still want more, and I think that I just might

puke, all over the front row, but art, it's avant guard,

the reviews call me a star, and I'm falling back, back and back some more.

Friday,

wake up. Give me an electroshock,

to shake the confessions from me. Ever moving

darling, stop with this chit chat and come give me a cuddle.

I woke up covered in glitter in the gutter with some poor old bastards cane

and I don't think I meant to come, but I did now what do I do?

Caught in the fireworks bright display, my head's

spinning, flipping, turning. Someone's making

pancakes, my mind reels at the thought, and into the

gutter I hurl the sparklers I ate the night before.

Tell me god can you see me? As I pour my heart and my alcohol

down the drain, Quick! Get me on a train. I want

to see the world from outer space, Alpha Centuri is

calling out my name.

Saturday,

wake up. Give me another chance.

Give me another way.

Just one more, one more day.

I think I died and went away,

in the part where he spilled my guts.