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

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Great Expectations, From the Unconscious Mind


Every day
I tell myself
I’m gonna seize it
Two sticks of dynamite
In each hand
Impenetrable defenses
Sipping out of my Coke can
Stars in my eyes
And laughter at my lips
Flames lick at my heels
Like cruel intentioned whips
Dysfunctional dysfunctions
Like braces on my legs
Grip tightly
Break free
No god shall smite me
Working like a dead man
With no plan
In this social construct
I rarely stand
My spine
Shriveled up ages ago
Get me up
And let me go
This dreamer
Can run faster
In real life
Lace up my chucks
And pick up my knife
This here is a young man's game
Roll with the punches
And throw some of your own
Ask no questions
You’ll be told nothing but lies
This young dreamer
Doesn’t walk
He flies
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