Crash!
Go the waves as I run into their arms
Curling me in with no sense of alarm.
Bang!
Goes the spectrum that splashes between clouds
Themselves being sponges of colors so loud.
This is the fabled springtime assault,
And I will be this season's martyr
And I will take all the fault!
Die, die, die before I am slain by the weekday!
It weakens me by the day,
Until I choke on my calender and throw up on my page.
An essay is a body that must be created
But I fear that mine may be destroyed.
This is too much work for a man of my age
Regurgitating deadlines on a neatly-boxed page.
My time is almost up, and if I make it,
I'll be gone.
We'll be driving towards the sun
As the ocean air swirls through the vibrant skies.
Our arms will be wings dangling out the windows,
Catching the wind as we begin to fly...
But these adverse currents make the work horse slow,
Still I'm measuring my freedom in hours to go!
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