What day is it today?
A comforting, but crippling, slump into the sofa
A day when the crumbs scratch against the back
the pots and pans solidify on the side
I'll do it tomorrow - the most productive line in my book
Pour some wine
Lay back
Wake from that dream where everything's clean
to the hiss of your boy, he stinks of weed
Why does he never talk to me?
The question you answer most days of the week but find it too hard to speak
Aloud
£40 out of the purse
Still so proud, so proud
The devil on your shoulder holds you accountable for everything you gave your life to avoid
So you second guess yourself
Did I do this to my boy?
It was nice outside today
but I still managed to talk myself out of every spontaneous plan I made
the rays were warm but I'll pull blanket over anyway
Immobile from the icy grip of depression
But today's another day
Do I look OK?
You look great
The lipstick, the coat, the smile on your face
I ask how she could ever feel that way?
But it's a feeling you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy
She doesn't ask for sympathy
just a hand on the shoulder, a message in the inbox, a phone call at night, a compliment
Something that makes her feel of worth
In a world where selfishness intoxicates
she lives her life through you
The night she spends alone with her thoughts
the good ones are saved for you
Bank notes and fast cars fill your dreams
Oh for those what you would do
While in the next room she hopes for another day
When her son will say 'I love you'
