Mantra in the morning,
I pretend to sing.
Numb, the funny frozen
secrets of those lyrics
are stabbing my I do’s.
Flat wheels on the road
are sold by merchants of
the bankrupt markets.
They fail to facilitate
a bittersweet, graveyard shift.
I come back and trade
the holidays left on my
Gregorian calendar.
Somebody has stolen fifteen-
day annual sick leave.
2015
chester maynes 
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Oh, thanks. What can I say? You have a writing style that is unique and can inspire! 🙂
thank you 🙂
you’re welcome 🙂
Chester, I love your pieces man!
Shreya, thanks a lot! 🙂