Decomposed

The work week is over and I’m safe home. I tell myself stress is already behind, that I should calm down and enjoy my well-deserved rest but it doesn’t work. The only thing that could work now is a heavy blow on the head-my head, to knock me unconsciously numb.

It’ll pass. It sickens me to always having to wait for something to pass when the only thing that really passes is my life. As each new day begins I’m full to the brim with pretty intentions and beautiful hopes; as the day ends the glass is already emptied and broken. It’s so easy to destroy.