9 2 5

The sky is set in its ways,
the moon is a taunting bright green.

She haunts you, literally.

Stalking you
like how a bird stalks its worm,
and the minute you try to escape
you realize she's flown away.

It's Monday.

You look at your watch and you realize the day's half gone anyway.
You sigh.
(they laugh)
She remembers to haunt you as she always does
and the motion is not well-received.
In fact,
out of all the times, situations, and things,
this one thing
"the thing"
the her
the it
the pain,

the pain she brings or reminds you of,
the something and nothing of her very being
tell you that

you

will

never

be

ok.

Never.

Despite the fact you try to forget
you look to your watch for support,
for it to tell you that time has slipped away,
hoping,
that with time,
the ghost will slip out too,
bored.
bored out of her wits
bored out of her mind,
bored from bothering you all day.
Boarding your house so that she stays away,
You hope that, with time,
She'll just leave,
and leave you to your own devices.
Your eyes bloodshot from staying awake
(hoping you could keep her at bay)
you hope,
to God,
that if there is a God,
she will finally leave you alone.
and let you be
in a world that tests your very being.

But every Monday,
like clockwork,
she reappears.
Not trying to hide her intentions,
She plagues you
and you plague her
And you both live in hostile,
but often necessary,
amnesty.