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, March 3, 2013

How Broken Can I Be?

Breaking
Breaking
Breaking

The fists to the ribs
The wallops to the chest
The strikes and the punches
None pulled
All connect

Breaking
Breaking
Breaking

Crumpled mass on the floor
Nothing left
I am broken now for sure

Breaking
Breaking
Breaking

Angry pressure
Hits me hard
Fragments and splinters
Arranged into a piece of art

Breaking
Breaking
Breaking

For just one last time
Until I burst to pieces
I'm broken
But I'm fine




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