Thursdays

Hear the weekend call out my name on a mixtape
Beats the cursed kid of 2008 couldn’t believe
Weakened by letters in envelopes and journals
Every headline read like predictable junk mail
Stuffed into the pages of a life in solitude

Punished himself for abandoning his youth
Cruelty continued and relegated progress
The mess left built higher than a sugar rush
When the crash came, it was always Thursday

Smashed up faces of a watch, shoes split at the toes
Broken table legs, phones grazed from concrete
The citizens continued, so he kept imploding

Each week came a late play-off final defeat
Gifted a long-sleeve stained in grassy green
Our boy believed he grew into all of his spite
But he had grime glued under them fingernails
As he typed bullet holes into a fledgling friendship

There were times when he became addicted to life
Outside clubs dancing on the hands of the night
Inside cabs singing with his underground band
Junkies will tell you all about hard landings

Infected with the sickness on his Isle of Bile
Mental health problems were an understatement
Like butcher’s meat, he should have been sectioned

So in this bottled message to the day we’re sailing out from
Give thanks to the shipwrecks who touched sand
Apologise for the storms and oceans left behind

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