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

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Mr. Disconnected

Apathetically pathetic
Describes Mr. Disconnected
His senses aren't refined
And his tastes are eclectic
Unplugged from the world
Relaxing in his bubble
Do not disturb!
Or prepare to be double-
Teamed by an army
Of oblivious destructors
The end game unclear
Of these dismantling instructors

How were we to know
What they were going to do
A chance to save the world
When presented with the truth
One word when heard
Can stop this absurd war
But Mr.Disconnected's not listening anymore
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