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, August 20, 2012

Something I Wrote

The eskimo
Took a low blow
To the solar plexus

Regrettable affairs
And disgruntled exes
Tortured morale
And welcoming tombs
Wait to taste my bleeding wounds

This igloo is cold
I'm freezing to death
But for an apology
I have saved my last breath

In this frozen land
My heart rests on ice
Cold and slow beating
Shredded and spliced

I wait for the warmth
Though I know it will melt me away
I really should leave..
But you might come back?
So I think I will stay

This is not a plea
It is simply a note
Not a cry for help
Just something I wrote
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