Sometimes I slip past
The moment many might sleep.
You know the feeling,
A foggy mind feeling weak.

But do you mind feeling weak?

Your mind filling week
After week with intentions.
And each promise a possession
You're unlikely to  keep.

Throwing goals in the garbage
Is like leaving thoughts in your head.
Your mind is the birthplace of ideas,
It's not meant to hold them until dead.

The teeth of your mind
Chatter as they crush.
Destroying reason or rhyme.
Grinding unwritten thoughts to dust.

And that's why
it's 4:38,
And I'm still awake.