What Day Is This?

Another dark poem that I wrote in the car in October of 2004.


What Day Is This?

i don't even know what day it is
do you?
get out the calendar and mark
it through
sometimes the point of all of this
is just surviving
i'm fooling everyone
if they think i'm thriving
put on a happy face and go on
ahead
at home are dirty floors and an
unmade bed
i'm claiborne on the outside
and thrift store in
doesn't seem like there's
anyplace
important i've been
one day the buck is going to stop
here on my life that i've got on lock
the shoe's dropping fast
watch it drop
that's the day i have on mismatched
socks
but that's okay, we're all just flocks
we all march to the same beat
doesn't matter what shoes
are on our feet
i must be crazy if i can think
outside the box of this skating rink
round and round the people go
someday they'll stop,
this i know.
but when they bust down
this flimsy door
finally they will ask for me
no more.