Grandiose Heartbeats
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
