Droning

There are seven days ahead of me without going to work. I don't have to get out of bed if I don't want to, because there's no school, either.

Yet I can't feel any joy. I don't feel much of anything.

This part needs to end, now. I want to feel good, again. I want to feel anything but the dull ache of being trapped.

There are no words I can offer. There is no bright light in store, it seems.

Please let this end, already.