As I'm sliding into a Wednesday morning
Straight towards alarms and iced, black coffee
I wonder.
If it was closer to last Sunday, just forty-eight hours
How much less backtracking would it take?
But now it's too late.
Soon I'll be climbing out of Tuesday
And tripping on my responsibilities along the way
But do I dare.
And who cares?
It's been just a prominade of yesterdays
A continuous crashing of tomorrows
With me stuck in the middle.
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