Haunting Sunday
Sunday blues this early morning,
I hold my chest and close my eyes,
wish I could escape from this war
where dreams fade and silence lies
The tea cools, the clock keeps ticking
its hands like ghosts that never rest,
In this hollow space I find myself slipping
into a world that feels half-possessed
The walls feel closer, the air thinner,
a quiet ache I can’t ignore
for all the places I’ve never been
and all the things I can’t restore
So here I linger, lost and fading
between the should-have-beens and might,
a tender heart forever waiting
for Sunday’s dawn to give me light.
