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Thursday

Her trembling hand
Slowly lifted the glass
Towards her parched lips
My god she was Thursday
 
It had been Friday last night
But this morning, upon wakening
She was Thursday again
Oh! So Thursday
 
She gulped her harsh biting liquid
Down her throat
And flopped back into her chair
It began to circulate through her veins
Steadying her shaking body
Again and again
The glass caressed her lips
And the liquid explored her body
 
Till finally she lay staring at the ceiling
Empty glass, empty bottle
Waiting waiting for Friday
For she was Thursday
Still

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