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, June 23, 2013

Square 1

Back to the drawing board
Scrap the last plan
Throw out the script
Signal the band
Turn in your badge
Schedule a flight
Fade in from black
And then cut to white
Retrace your steps
Eliminate the prints
We're starting from scratch
No tips, tricks, or hints

This is round two
It belongs to you
Take what you need
And do what you do
Fight the good fight
For as long as you can
Rally the troops
Call only good men

We have now entered
The land of last chances
Filled with inspiring speeches
And last stances
This is square one
For the final time
Claim your endings
At the front of the line

Bleeding tears
From the broken heart
This is where we make our start
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