Sloppy

Dark in my room, and I'm alone,
but I'm aware that when I put my hand over my eyes for comfort,
I'm being pulled viciously one way or the other,
and I'm dizzy-
and there's you and you and you and you pressing my cheek for a response,
I've nothing to give.
I roll over to my cat, the one living thing that will cuddle next to me, even if I've been angry that he's torn up my shoestrings.
it's been so dark lately, inside, i open the blinds
and it's not quite bright enough.
outside it's yellow.
not blue.  summer is over, so it isn't blue anymore. 
and warm weather is too far away to anticipate.
sundays are yellow and impotant, and helpless. 
on sundays, I will only be able to sit around and dread the things I have to do tomorrow.
unfortunately, winter is four months, and every day is sunday.
is that not sad enough?  pathetic enough?  why isn't there something else to look forward to? 
and I ask the same question, when did it get so hard to live?
the show closed on sunday (how appropriate, wonderful things always end on sundays.)