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, April 29, 2012

Comfortable Night

We found a place
Where we were hugged by the forest
Cozy little trees
That loved and adored us
Mischief and misdirection
Led us to this place
Nightmares at our back
Cause to quicken pace

Forever running scared
Tired and forgotten
Our lives spent and wasted
Our reputations rotten
No place left to hide
But, yet here we are
Hidden and concealed
Staring at the stars

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