It Always Rains on Sundays

It's like wondering if Noah is still getting a good laugh from that unpronounceable mountain

where the Ark might still be- because we are probably going to need it real soon.

Rain on Sundays are like God reminding the world that Saturday is really his day 

and that we have forgot that and just about everything else He told us to do

and be and be not.

It's like asking for change from a bored store clerk when there is nothing on TV

and going to the quick mart at midnight because you're afraid of going to sleep.

There was anything you really wanted to eat anyway and the coffee has gone 

stale beyond what sugar and creamer can revive or even a coke could resurrect.

It's like waking up alone in a bed that you were sure was just occupied by

someone that you loved or at least you were pretty sure you loved, that is-

of course, before the moment of realization that you have always been alone

and time has become meaningless with the certain understanding that 

the isolation is driving you crazy and it is something that even having a 

cat or dog won't solve.

It's like not wanting to leave the house in the morning, just go back to bed

and bury yourself in the pillows and sheets and defy the sunlight which is

not going to come out today anyway so what is the point of all of it?

There are reasons that life is this way but as far as you can tell you had

nothing to do with it or at very least are unwilling to admit that anything

could have been done to alter it in the first place.

It's like the chocolate being so sweet that it changes everything it is in

to some acidic miasma of disappointment and resentment that constantly

boils in your blood at the unfairness that consumes every waking moment

of your life and the only minutes of lucidity that you have is when you

stop long enough in the sunlight to understand that you are lost and lonely

and sad and since it is still raining you know that you are damned regardless.

It's like thinking the person that looks out from your dreams is crying 

until you realize that their tears are only raindrops running down the 

window pane separating you from their sanity.

It's like rain on Sundays, always raining, always.