Monstag

The first Monday of the year,
Is quite a looked down upon day.
With nothing to look forward to,
Existence itself quite pointless.
Black mind,
Mercurial mood
And suicidal thoughts,
Bear down on berry tea-
Firmly clasped.
No facade,
No motivation of even faking it,
Central focus is on the word "quit."
But will it bring peace?
Or just render  to pieces-
As mostly the debris of the soul,
Remain helpless-
So the blow might shatter more.
Yet what is peace and happiness anyway ?
All remote terms-
Equidistant in their opaqueness.
All then, one may think of is,
Some vein pumpers of giddiness.
A day where faithless,
Is but an allegory,
Maybe a junkie may have it's own day.
No escape from looking at the dreary grey,
The fog too reflects,as it symbolizes much.
5 days of no relief,
A scattered mind just runs helter-skelter-
Like that deer chased by the cheetah,
Searching in vain,
For a hope of shelter.
Stagnant days,
Dead and in daze,
It's a zombie's life,
Being re-told across the pages.
Hope be the dope,
Much at the end of rope,
The flicker finds itself,
Fading out fast.