Death to Dreary Days
Dull as they may be, without them you’d be deranged.
Demented as they may force you to feel, you divulge your obsession that it cannot be changed.
Door to door, you express your dreaded dependency on dreary days.
Documenting them as they drone on and on, your delusion of comfort wears off one dull afternoon in May.
Here you are, despondent to the reality as it hits you.
Discouraged, downcast, dispirited.
Crestfallen, yet determined to deny the dreadful emptiness of a mundane routine to swallow you whole, you declare, “Death to Dreary Days!”
Sunshine and a breeze,
Waves and a drink,
Hammock and palm trees,
Now you have the time to think.
Why did you depend on your dreary days so?
Why did the bland taste of uneventful hours of your life wasted make you feel secure?
No more.
You decided resolutely.
Will you be recalling the awful days from the adventures laying ahead and thank your lucky stars for waking up from this awful curse?
Absolutely.
