Come Monday- come Sunday

I suppose I get too high on my lows.

I suppose I too get stuck on those notes.

Like so many others, they say it goes over.

Many of those others try to appeal to one another.

I suppose I can't really see no hope.

I suppose that's fine.

I'm okay. What is another day? I'm 23, I've got a long history of days.

I suppose I'll be fine. Come Monday, I'll be okay.

Come Tuesday too, I'll be fine.

I just won't tell you of these casual suicidal thoughts of mine.

No, I can't really say that I'm stuck in my head.

You'd think I'm crazy, fighting myself each and every day like that.

I've killed myself a thousand times, I've hurt myself a thousand more...

I like that song, pretty hardcore...

Come Wednesday and pass as fast as you can from my sight!

I've searched for poison by now, and I've pondered 'bout height.

I've got no browser history, and too many letters.

I quiver, my eyes tear up. 

Now my body gets convulsions from time to time.

So time is taboo.. The future long in the past.. The present the only gateway that leads to a place where no one can ask..

 

-why?

 

But it's not over.. There's Thursday, Friday and Sunday too.

I've go more planning to do.

One snip, two snip, three snips.. why am I cutting all the pictures of me?

Four sips, five sips, si-*hic* xss... where did the matches go?

"Hehehe... the picture-*hic* ss.. went up in smoke!"

Come Sunday, come Sunday, my favorite day. I alwayshh sleep sho well when you're around...

Come Sunday, come Sunday... my day will be profound!

This poem is about: 
Me

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