Sunday Again

Every time I look up,
It's Sunday again,
And another week is gone.
All the coulda-dones,
And shoulda-saids
Gang up on me-
Relentlessly guilting me
Into each eager Monday,
Where once more,
I find myself
Surrounded by good intentions.
Then, in the blink of an eye,
I get swept up in a whirlwind
Of hours, addictions,
And your unconditional love.
Before I know it,
It's Friday,
And I'm playing Russian Roulette
With deadlines,
In the midst of 5 o'clock traffic...
At last accepting the fact,
That time has run out,
And there's nothing more I can do.
I take a deep breath,
Slip onto the innocence
Of a broken smile,
And patiently wait for Sunday,
Which more and more often,
Is already gone.