on the first day it’s shitty beer and your shitty band
kid, maybe you want your name up in lights
but all you’ve got is half a can of spray paint and a brick wall
 

the second day you’re hungover and your eyes are full of sand
you never dream in color anymore
and everything you eat tastes the same
 

on the third day God created light and dark
but on the third day you’re throwing up in the kitchen sink 
your best friend shoots up in a bathtub and you still think he’s clean
 

and the fourth day dawns purple and bruised and bright
but you sleep straight through the sunrise
it’s 2:34 pm by your phone’s clock when you open your eyes
 

day five is blurry and tired
you think you might have a cold
but you’re so used to feeling sick that you can hardly tell
 

tuesday is shit
but you still manage to get out of bed
you can hardly breathe until you go out for a smoke
 

wednesday feels fresh and you don’t know why
you dig change out of the couch for coffee
and everything feels okay for a couple of hours
 

thursday rolls around and your phone rings late
your best friend is crying on the other end and saying “i fucked it all up”
and when he tells you why, you cry too
 

friday morning you’re sitting on the fire escape with him
there’s dried blood on the collar of his shirt
and he says he’s never going to do it again