What's the point in it all?

Mondays seem like Tuesdays

And Wednesdays and Thursdays

Fridays and weekends

The days collide, overlap

Like an abstract collage

That I'm still trying to decipher

I can't read the captions

It's all come sort of code

A mumbo-jumbo misture of madness

A conglomeration of morphed figures

I don't understand

I can't understand

I won't understand

Never, ever, ever til the end of this pathetic phase

Shall I ever truly begin to grasp this alien concept

The light doesn't come on

The light can't come on

The light won't come on

Not ever until I'm past this

Whatever "this" really is

Nothing seems to be really worth it anymore

My exciting, fun-filled days

Have all slowly transformed

To a trivial series of insignificant triumphs

And heart-shattering defeats

Everything has been blended into a dull gray

No certainty, no surprises

Everything's so wildly predictable

The Mondays last all week long

As do Tuesdays and Wednesdays

Thursdays and Fridays

Weekends too

All week long, it's every day

And I don't figure it out

I can't figure it out

I won't figure it out