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, February 3, 2012

Gray World

I don't live in a world of extremes
Or a world of black and white
I live in a world of gray
Where people are nice and polite

They tell me what I like to hear
To get me off their backs
But nothing close to honest fears
Their lies are mounted on plaques

Who am I to judge the judged?
No one of importance
Just a man of gray
No one cares for my two cents

A mild-mannered world
With deep dark secrets
Where people smile and pretend
And gray men are lead to early crypts.

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