I've been awake for awhile,
pushing forward this idea in my head
like a surgeon guiding his patient to the knife.
It's at the front of my head,
ready to shatter the glass of my forehead.
Or, better yet, gently move down,
and slide between my teeth
like my chilly breath on this cold day.

There is always time to take into account.
It's needy and it's hungry for wasted minutes.
It claws at the door until I turn the ****,
and, like a wave, collapses me.
And this idea, so overwhelming and heavy,
will tell me to stay on the ground,
let more time past by,
and soon I will fall asleep on this cold day.

This idea isn't a fair gambler.
There's no areas shaded gray,
trust me. I tried to find them.
Once you're in, you ain't goin' back,
like a criminal taking his steps toward Old Sparky.
This idea might render me like that criminal, actually,
and maybe you'll realize how this will haunt you.
Write your requiem on this cold day.