Miss the Sun

There's bile in my throat telling me my timing is off but I don't listen.
It's just plain easier to ignore inconvenient truth in times like these.
The jostling of this tram against the street is singing doom but still we rattle our way further on.
I've been rattling myself for months,
Losing track of the important parts
In an effort to smooth out the wrinkles.

The news anchors are looking increasingly worn thin and I feel that somewhere deep down inside me too
Is an individual worn too thin for too long
By trying to keep up with each day as it steamrolls through.
All I'm trying to do is stay alive out here.

I can't even fathom this return to normalicy that everyone keeps going on about
I'm still processing last week, looking for what is worth keeping and what should be thrown away.
But I'm finding I just don't have the processing power for all of this
And so I keep my eyes on the street ahead of us
While we rattle on to the next stop.
It feels like it's been Tuesday for months.

They told me I would miss the sun but I didn't believe them.