Blasphemy,
a forced wit to write is no better than fights on a playground, adolescents, unbearable, fruitless, all around useless,
success can’t be conjured it must flow from the soul,
frustrated tossing and turning and thinking, in bed,
thoughts are racing some trivial, most not,
in my present… yesterday’s future,
using this logic I am calmed and collected,
now knowing these feelings will pass, all of them will pass, with time they will pass, with a pen they will fall out, splat, creating images between lines,
the best part being mine all mine,
knowing I will sleep, I do, oh how I do.
and my dreams.
are an acquired taste.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 7:42 PM UTC
Blasphemy,
a forced wit to write is no better than fights on a playground, adolescents, unbearable, fruitless, all around useless,
success can’t be conjured it must flow from the soul,
frustrated tossing and turning and thinking, in bed,
thoughts are racing some trivial, most not,
in my present… yesterday’s future,
using this logic I am calmed and collected,
now knowing these feelings will pass, all of them will pass, with time they will pass, with a pen they will fall out, splat, creating images between lines,
the best part being mine all mine,
knowing I will sleep, I do, oh how I do.
and my dreams.
are an acquired taste.