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

Saturday, February 2, 2013

The Wilder West

We have bent the knee
To figments
Of Our Collective Imagination
Our alcoholic potions
And disillusioned creations
Our influenced decisions
A mental decapitation

Our brains in jars
Pumped with want and need
A breeding ground for wanton greed
Stop your spinning wheels
And breakdown the machine
Don't be a cog
But rather a seed
Live to grow
Not to function
Broken crossroads
And dead-end junctions
Your travels
Nothing more than
Fruitless compunctions

Stop your pacing
And take a deep breath
Start out on your path
Because for us

"The road has always led west"

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