A Pig Of A Cliché Day

One of those days. Do I need to tell you? Like some invisible burden to do with humanity or something personal, imagined, no clue, pressing down, tensing the back, can barely walk a straight line, face full of repressed anger about what I don’t know, then yawning with the weariness of doing nothing so how to deal with it if you don’t know who laid it on you or why opened the paper almost too bored to do that, read the story of how he won the VC, top honour, very rare and what it’s been like since reckoned if I can cry like this something must be alright somewhere I’m OK now. You?