These bouts of silence,

Always appearing every weekend,

Creases and lines offer no ideas,

Is this the part where I'm supposed to,

I need to keep moving,

With this nonsense and mud that's around me,

In all I think I can do,

I don't want to go on further,

This day I stand up,

So tired of this unending grind,

I always wonder if this is the norm,

On days I’m up on others I’m down,

New is old,

So why the refrain?

My sister isn't talking,

What happened to us?

Decide,

Deduce,