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, August 5, 2011

Better Days

Dedicated to the standard
Of the olden, golden
Good old days
When I was not beholden
Frequented by dreams
Of the dead and gone
Mind games to be played
In my head all day long

Looking for an excuse
For this noose around my neck
Preemptively forsaken
In my journey's endless trek

Positively breathless
With a negative outlook
Dark days ahead
Look like chimney soot

Blacker than black
on the brightest of days
My future is clouded
In a regret shaded haze

Stuck in the pattern
Of old stubborn ways
I've given up
On life's tangled maze

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