So I Think

It was Monday, good with the sun
And my bus was twenty late
With no where left to go, but just to run
Run on anything through the gate

It's only psychological this day
That my mind would anticipate
And slower becomes each second passing
Chaos confused and discord waxing

You can look through me so un-fondly
Just as a stain glass window
But in this hour, this one ungodly
Conviction blow away, just go

Walking through words like I've nothing left
So resolved, reclusive taken by theft
But now it's Monday evening
And hours closer, so stop grieving