Sorrowful Sunday,
I'm not a victim, I victimize,
And you can't drown me with your media lies.
Even though you stick a needle in my skin,
You won't give me cancer, not again.

Mannequin Monday,
You are the host to my early-week parasite,
You snap my wings, and I fight for flight.
Holding me hostage, binded in words,
My eyes are straining in all the absurd.

Temptress Tuesday,
Stock me up on medicine,
You can't wait to twist my hands again.
You send me hate mail in heart attacks,
And the doctors can't even face these facts.

Wicked Wednesday,
You lurk along in my least favorite songs,
And inbetween my breaths, you paint my lungs.
You swim in my veins, you swim in my eyes,
You fill my inner-ribbons with poisonous lies.

Thallium Thursday,
Painting nightmare portraits all inside my brain,
You sicken me with stories that make me go insane.
Offering me presents that are obviously bombs,
And putting me to sleep with sad blue-grass songs.

Facade Friday,
You brutaly torture me with twisted glares,
And I rebel in weakness with ice-blue stares.
You portray yourself as a man with a dream,
And then brain-wash the city and kill the whole scene.

Sadistic Saturday,
Ink in my skin and lead in my nails,
This attempt to break me never fails.
Floating somewhere in all the crooked hearts,
The end of the week is only the start.