Monday

Agravating Monday.
6 o'clock rise
Minimal breakfast
And the sweet deceiving aroma of bleak, stale, shrapnel on toungue coffee.

Sitting at the table
Staring, deep absent muse
Fog out the window
And the rough gravel, sharp stone preceding grass, in fog is what i see.

...

Behold. Red light.
Movement prohibited.
Cycle of wheels stop
Fume from pipe. Cold, suffocation. 'Grim' reaps his benefit from Monday's earth with glee.

Red long gone
green far behind
speed picked up
i look aside. Distracted -
                  Sound stops -
                     Time slows -
                        Spider web of glass breaks -
                     Shards impale before, -
                  Wall protecting from outside bears down and crushes -
               Silent bliss.
       Black envelopes -

in the distance, a siren.