One of My Bad Days

Sunlight streamed through the window
The curtains shifted a little in the spring breeze
There was a small blue and green rug on the floor
The blade of fans on the ceiling are spinning as a spintop
The wind blew into a face
I've sat on my here in boring room
And wasting my time I've got nothing to do
Just laid down on the bed
And staring at the ceiling
Like a dying man are waiting the death
While listened a sound of saxophone rhythm
Uncovered by the breath of an artist (Roger Waters)
Composed by his fingers
and been a perfected rhythm.

MIAT as a prison and
the boring room as a cell
And me as a prisoner
No money, no transport, no credits to calling someone
There's someone in my head but it's not me
This is just a passing phase
Just one of my bad days
All my friends has leave
Why are you running away?
Does anybody else in here
Feel the way i do?

I've got a little black book
with my poems in;
I've got a bag with a trouble and boring
Then took a pen to wrote this
Into my poem collections
Day after day, love (to poem) turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man
But i just can patient, wait and getting through.