Seven Days

As I sit back and think about the week, 

Seven bland days, seven bleak streaks.

Monday could not set anything right, 

Everyone just groaned and moaned at its sight.

Tuesday came in pretty calm,

It kept neutral tones, raised no alarms.

Wednesday barged in with a strong bang,

Never consistent, no song it sang.

Thursday showed up broken and hurt, 

At my doorstep, wearing blue ripped jeans and a white shirt.

Friday almost breezed in effortlessly adding to the misery,

Smart, fun and attractive, but I'm not fooled by this trickery.

Saturday arrived with all pom and glory, 

Hollow within, it's eyes portrayed a different story.

Sunday punched in with sadness, filling into the soul.

It Always left things undone, similar to someone without any goals

What's now left; nothing more to savour.

Weeks pass by; adding no flavour.