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, July 10, 2013

Outside

Let me in

I am ill equipped

Everyday I worry
I am falling apart
Loosely stitched seams
This is pain not art

Let me in

The cold is sapping my strength
I am ragged and disheveled
My suffering goes on at length

I am a bird with no flight
And the ground is crumbling beneath my feet
I am looking to tether myself
To some kind of something
Otherwise
I am just falling through space

Let me in

Logistics are the soul crushing
Weights of adulthood
Senseless action
The sole outlet of contents under extreme pressure
I fear the passionless bitterness
That spawns from repeated failure

Let me in

Please

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