Saturdays

it comes on quickly like the rush of a nervous smile
a shroud of feeling
its old and familiar
you could even call it by name but it would never do it the justice it deserves
its the premise of an old romance or a new days destruction
lurking in the shadows of the conscience waiting to pass through the weekend streetlights
through the tunnels of a heavy hearted chest clicking along the local route hitting every stop dragging it all the way down the line
transfer it to the overflowing street
swerving between pedestrians and sheeple
carrying it all the way
with it written on your face even though its already forgotten
until it shows itself once again

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