Tried counting normal sheep.
It didn’t work.
None of them seem to have that je ne sais quoi
that Eastern - European sleep sheep have.

Tried counting good and bad memories. On an invisible flip chart.
Just like in my youth corporation.
I presented the situation to my inner Earth, waiting for feedback and good vibes.
All I got was a mosquito in my left ear.

Tried counting all the nights when I couldn’t sleep but
I was never good with imaginary numbers.

Then.. I started counting all the “I’m sorry”s,
“I love thee”s
and “It wasn’t me to pull the trigger, your honor!”s,
slowly falling in a pit full of
alligator dreams, just waiting
to bite on my neck.

Sleep made me weak.
Sleep made me spill all the meds on the wooden floor and
suddenly, I started seeing the truth through a pair
of 3D cardboard glasses.

Then I started to feel blue and it all happened so fast, officer!

They’re all in a hurry.

All of these brave men and women are in a hurry.
They’re anxious to get home and ******* before their significant others arrive,
ready for a home sweet home experience,
with fine wine and cheesy shows on the tube.

Life simply goes on in cycles,
like a loop video on the metro CCTV.
No heart attack spikes, no heavy breathing, no chance for a near death experience.

We are all obedient mother/father *******,
waiting for the wind to put down the big old tree in front
of our house, so we can have a hot topic on our Facebook walls.

Trying to be different,
mostly in a verbal manner,
is like performing **** with a ***** dolphin,
in front of a tank full of happy sharks.

We’re all in a hurry,
tryin’ to get back home
and ******* good
before the significant part of our life begins.

‘t was nice till now.
I’d be a sad fool to complain.
There are others that deal with
much more **** then I can ever imagine.
There are happy homeless chums
that don’t give a **** about sadness but, unfortunately,
their madness is voiceless
and, sadly, our ears get numb after 3-4 minutes of elevator music.

It was cool and everything but now it seems that you’re only
showing the back of your head, as you’re kneeling down in front
of everybody.

No spine. No dime. No nothing.

Death lies hidden in your breast pocket,
just waiting to bite your hand or that of your loved ones,
in a blink of a blind eye.

My inner black dog chased away the black and white cats
and all that jazz is just not enough for
a healthy restart of the brain membrane.

Get closer and hear me out.
I’m speaking through my heart – this yellow bellow fella’s almost done.
I’ll whisper and you’ll understand my stubbornness,
like an unlit candle in the wind,
like a simple quiet rocket/piano man,
like the unlikely event of crashing in a brick wall.

‘t was nice.
All the dreaming
and drinking
and smiling
and crying
and cringing inside my head.
Oooooooh, what a match!
The crowd goes wild and that’s so unlike them to do – clawless, fangless, white tigers.

You might not recognize this day as being amazing and wonderful and all,
but trust me when I say that you’re in a blind spot right now and
as soon as it will be over, you’ll see it.
You’ll understand.
Those were not drops of desperation but exquisite fine wine left unattended.

Hear the echo inside this caveman’s body.
Look in this broken mirror and admit that you cannot see the eyes.

This generation of morons will stay put and eat macarons all day long.
It’s just a burning house, as Robin nicely put it in his song.
There is still hope for this silly antelope.
There is time for the timeless universe that we live in.

You’ll eventually get tired of seeing everything backwards,
of going against the stream, like a red herring in a Quentin T. dark alley.
You’ll get tired and admit that
you’re the ******* queen of everything wrong in this world.

Stop complaining.
Get over it.
For now.

Making all the small mistakes,
we move on, from one gig to another,
with our head up-high,
and our ear glued to the railroad track.
We walk backwards, surrounded by defective traffic signals
and multi-toned car horns – an impersonal Trojan toy horse,
with too much space inside our frameless carcass
to be filled by an empty soul.

There’s nothing
I want more
than to win a
lip sync battle
with God.

the dream ain't over 'till the dreamer's awake.
and your sleep will keep the dream going, on and on,
in a silence made of rear view windows.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUDc1frz22E]