In vicious stabs I thrust my ink spear,
And cry "Die! Die! Die!",
Lassitude spurts, frothy in its spit,
Futile resists in its lies.
Monday groans and rolls in vain,
Hands on my spear, rump on my bed,
In its last feeble intent:
"You'll never see another day!"
Never in its last foreboding I heed,
And hear the crowd craves for blood,
Shrieking "Kill! Kill! Kill!",
And I muffle "Will ever Tuesday come?"
P.S: Was inspired by Brian Patten's "The Assassination of the Morning". Though, my was nothing close, other than the title.