That day I wake to the annoying sound of the alarm ringing in my ear. 
 

Cursing you as I do. 

 

I drag myself out from the warmth of the bed. 
 

Coldness clings to the walls; its arms reach out to sting the naked skin. 

 

I drag myself to the bathroom. 

 

I run my hand across the jagged radiator. 
 

Shoulders deepen as the sharp, cold metal adds to the bitterness of the morning's blues. 
 

Yesterday's smile has gone down under.  
 

The belly rumbles. 

 

Clockwise the shower dial turns. 
 

Water falls in a torrid storm dancing upon my hand. 

 

Where are you? I wonder as I wait for you to arrive. 

 

But like the bus of yesterday, you don’t arrive. 

 

I push your buttons, turn your knobs and fight you. 

 

But for now, you have won. 
 

The smell of sweat shall cling to this body for today at least. 

 

Perhaps tomorrow you will lose the battle.  

 

The kettle boils. 

 

Beans parade round and around as the lights shine down, warming up, and I watch the show. 

 

Like a rocket, you launch into the air - a bid to escape your destiny  

only to come crashing back down to your final resting place. 

 

I smother you with butter I do as the show comes to an end with around of beeps. 

 

Steam curls into the air as I pour the main event over the drenched toast. 
 

Through the open door, I watch as you arrive. 
 

Like unwanted rain, you fall on the darkest day of the week and each other day. 
 

A strip of lightning shoots across the darkened sky as you remind me why I hate this day. 
 

This day called Monday.