what happens on wednesdays.
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r_04
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What happens on Wednesdays.
It sounds unfinished and it is but it’s intended.

By: r.b

what happens on wednesdays.

by r.b

When Wednesdays roll around like they do, weekly, I am either happy or sad.

None of which I mind except for the fact that I can't always choose.

On some Wednesdays, I am submerged, soaked and coated in sadness.

It's drippy and it's trippy and it spreads like wildfire, scorching everything around me, bleaching the sky in sullen grey and white until I resemble a portrait without its bright paint.

I am tied, laid bare, voice stolen.

Like happiness was a pill I couldn't afford.

I fight sometimes, tugging, reaching for something, someone to hold onto till pill H comes back in store.

Sometimes it works long enough to reach Thursday and other times it doesn't because it is like a child with attachment issues, leeching on and grappling with me during attempts to leave.

Other days, all I am is blood, bones and body and I sink into it, allowing it to cloud my judgement, intensify all emotions and lash out inconsequentially.

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