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

Sunday, August 7, 2011

About A Girl

About this girl I knew
About this girl I remember
She was the apple of my eye
From January to December
Three hundred and sixty-five days a year
Turned into decades
I've spent so near
To a girl I've never uttered a word
I know this situation seems absurd
But she was intimidating
Beautiful too
And I was afraid
This much is true
I thought I had
All the time in the world
To muster up the courage
To speak to this girl
But now I'm leaving
Gone on my way
But the girl of my dreams
She will forever stay

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