Reading too much poetry will result in lousy imitations from me. My first poem posted here p.s it's meant to be funny
Sunday, September 22, 2013 @ 9/22/2013 10:22:00 PM
Sunday is a block of ice-cream waiting to be eaten.
Sunday passes by so quickly only to be random.
Why Does the Last Day of every week means so much
Yet I do so little?
Sunday is hazy, tiring, lazy, frustrating
hazardous for health (and I mean
both physical and mental
Sunday should be killed
and we should call it simply 'Bleaurghday'
but that's just depressing.
I like Saturdays, Sat-duh-days
it feels nice on the tongue
but her sister's a bitch
Because she's beginning of a week
and the end of one or none.
Monday's a bully but then again,
everyone knows that.
It's Sunday that is sneaky
with her awful Sunny
and the smileys and the families
that forces me to be happy
only that I am
Then it melts and ends.