Sunday breaks my heart.
The bomb shelter fallout queens
raise their heads up
out of the underground disco-teks crying
because the only part of the world
destroyed was the art.
Sunday just breaks my ****ing heart.

Blonde eyes waiting for the sun to slash away
at some old clouds and bring in
new days sit endless and sick,
perched with pelican necks,
sitting stoned on the park benches
or in the trenches around
their battle-worn shopping carts.
And sunday breaks my heart.

Slicing up tangerines with bayonets,
setting empty bottles, tops off, skyward,
so they'll catch the daily fallout.
Posing like a burning mannequin at the news stand
watching the real evidence of a world
pass me by with post-cocktail party frowns.
Loitering outside lotto liquor stores,
noon-thirty on my mind. Yesterday
can have my mind 'cause sunday breaks my heart.

how sad & depressing..

I it

like it...teasingbrunette

You still got it going on..Your writing is still damn amazing...

The last sentence was my favorite.
Wonderful write Plastic

awesome bro