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

Monday, January 30, 2012

Lost

I find myself confused
I find myself perplexed
I find the things I want to say continually repressed
I find myself...

At a loss for words
I find myself unseen
I find myself unheard

I find myself searching
For something, anything at all
And now it seems I find myself up against the wall




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