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

Thursday, July 14, 2011

The Listener

He's hungry for info
Thirsty for chatter
Greedy for gossip
And the news always matters

Interested in intel
Focused on the data
Collecting all the memory
Saves some for later
quick and quiet as can be
Picks it up with his ears
And spits it out with his teeth

Beware of The Listener
Cause he's always hanging 'round
Try and keep your secrets
Close to the ground
For if you let them loose
Careless through the air
He will snatch them up
And spread them without care

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