Eight-forty-five,
They're laughing as I cry.
In my room, just Scott and I.
He sings as I weep.
My cold burger settles uneasily
In this iron-bound stomach.
Then, I realize my tears are lacking something:
Salt.
I sip some Tang and sigh.
Eight-fifty-three.
The phone rings and I snap awake.
My sister is calling to speak to
My mother, but she is occupied
With her dinner guests.
Then, I am alone again, Scott
And me. Lonely me.
I stare at the cold burger and fries
And go into the dark bathroom.
I fumble for my treasure and it's there.
Nine-oh-seven.
The blood is seeping through three tissues,
My cuts run long and deep.
Well, deeper than usual, I'd say.
Joel and Benji drop by and I smile.
The twins always cheer me up.
And this day-old burger seems less
And less threatening. To me, at least.
Menace, threat, creatan, hethen...
All me, Joel tells me. I love him.
Nine-eighteen.
I change into my blue shirt and
Old gray shorts. Bedtime.
The burger rests on the floor as
Mt dog cuddles up to me and I,
Pitiful I, drift off to sleep.
Sayonara, Thursday. See you in a week.