A weariness,

A weariness,

Dragged him down.

It almost pinned him

To the ground.

It suited the morning,

The colours of the world

All drained away,

Through a lack of care.

The day, wrung out

Before it starts.

Even though

They say it will improve,

It moves lethargically,

Matching his slothful gait.

All he lacks is the soulful eyes,

And he would be nocturnal now,

Living in the dark,

Barely registering the passing

Of the sun.

Hidden as it is, behind the grey.

Fooling no-one,

With its here I am,

Catch me, if you can,

Play acting.

He has lived too long

To believe the hype,

When they talk up the day

On the breakfast show,

It gave him no satisfaction

To know,

They were all just

Addicted to

Peddling fun.

And between each tune

Fuelled their pain

With a line of cocaine

In the bathroom.

He wondered

How long,

They would have,

Before the music died,

And the hammer fell

On their time

On the celebrity production line.

Would they slide down

Out of sight,

With barely a fight.

Or would they

Kick and scream,

To hold on to their dream,

Before it is snatched away,

And with one final wave,

They are tipped into the grave,

Of another day.

Just like this morning.

Happy Monday.