Sunday

Sunday

 

It was Sunday morning...

My first thought was to peek between the blinds

The sky was orange, dawn barely creeped behind

The Sun arose amongst the carnage to breathe an endearing light

And I couldn’t do much but exhaust my emotion and be deprived

Of sleep, wipe off all the excess

Grab the water I had resting next to my bed

Then I slowly slip out of the blanket

Ruffle the hair on my head, crack my neck and the next second I’m standing

Go to the bathroom to wash up trying to remember exactly what happened

And the fact is, again and again I’m always asking for the same answers

From the same old question, was it worth it?

Still blood on my hands

Nothing good come from that

I slowly look up again

Check my face, check my body, I’m a fucking disaster

As the blood runs, the soap comes after

And after that I’m leaving the bathroom

With the towel over my shoulder smouldered in ash

That stained my body after it happened, I’m full of regret...

I stumble over with this overbearing weight

A look all over my face telling tales that my mouth wouldn’t say

My eyes are red and deep-set, barely knowing that I’m awake

And so my fingers slip between the curtains, the pole groans as they’re pulled away

My attention motions over the orange-cast ocean of our distaste

Street lights barely can breathe light

It almost seems like

I can still see the body if only I squint right

I pull my own body away before the devil inside comes to realise

He was right all along

Momma I’m sorry your baby’s gone

Father tried but he did the same when he was young

So I’m just living life as a consequence of his outcomes

Or maybe I be a man and admit what I did

I don’t know if I’m mad that it happened or simply glad that it did

A weight on my shoulders, or something that helped me ascend

I try to look out with a grin but I don’t feel worthy of the Sun

I slip back in again

I understand the burden I handle, it dismantled the grasp I had on the kid

That lived inside of me, for better or for worse

Every single time that he, tried to surface I had to restrict the urge

Since that night I see, nothing but hurt, my feet sink in earth

Even standing upon a carpet, my eyes descend to my feet

What’s the point in pretending, I should just accept that I’m weak

This day was made for resting, and God I know you said it

But today is for recollecting, perhaps to even repent it

‘Cos today is Sunday, but yesterday was the ending