Journal

Insomniac's Journal

Words birthed in the internal

His subconscious' dunk-tank

These words remained unranked

Articulate the contemplations

Of these waking frustrations

Pen in hand

Sleep be damned

These are the greatest thoughts in the land

But why do they come at 4 in the morning

Must write them down

And heed the warning

His memory won't serve him as well when he wakes

If only he knew what was at stake

Words, Words, and more still left to come

Cannot stop till he sees the sun

Sunken eyes

Blood shot red

Sleep finally comes to the walking dead

Friday, June 24, 2011

Doomed

Taken, yet mistaken
For these claims that I'd been making
Expertly protected
But this outcome was expected

Left alone
On my own
Built my heart out of stone
No one phones
They're all gone
Left behind an empty home

Except for me
Solitary
One young man too blind to see
Released from his captor
On a cloudy afternoon
With a dismal future that will be cut short soon
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