no rest for the week
no rest for the week stories
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ajaddison
ajaddisontired, gay, and infinitely small
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
(get it? because it's about days of the week and being weak? i'll see myself out)

no rest for the week

sunday drags her heels and mumbles when she speaks

wonky glasses and mussed hair and pyjamas at four in the afternoon

curls herself in the sun and sleeps for an age

she forgets to eat, forgets to breathe

(she can’t bring herself to care)

monday spits a curse and a greeting in the same breath

bloodshot eyes and a twisted mouth and tie hung loose around her neck

she stares into the distance with hatred in her lungs

she thinks death pain anguish upon the ones who stand over her

(she’ll never give it, but what does that matter)

tuesday watches stormclouds drift overhead and she wants

her eyeliner is a sharp indelible tally, collar cuts off her air

she scratches at scarred skin and wants, needs

something ancient unfurls in her chest and whispers take it

(she can’t, she never can, that isn’t how it works)

wednesday smiles and nods and gazes past the screen

hair limp and meticulously styled, fingernails ragged

she falls apart in the bathroom, she breaks her desperation upon the tiles

comes back to her desk smelling of blood and lilies

(blood is the only truth left to her, but lilies smell sweeter)

thursday turns her back on wednesday and lives

she steals kisses and compliments, but it’s never enough

wrists dripping in flea market jewels, her sleeves too short to hide the scars

she steals slip-knots and secrets, still not enough

(not enough not enough not enough)

friday’s eyes are fixed on something far from here

paper on her desk, fire in her throat, and blazes catch

she is blind with smoke and ash and the corpse of yesterday, of today, of tomorrow

she sees tomorrow, feels it just out of reach, and she snarls

(it’s too far away, too far, she won’t make it)

saturday breathes, breathes, sleeps

forgets what she looks like, forgets who she is in the wake of monday, tuesday, friday, wednesday

she devours books, eats the hours, consumes the quiet

doesn’t taste it, can’t taste it, no time no time

(because sunday is coming, and monday is here, and her bones are rotting beneath her)

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