Ideas.

The only word I know is primal,
Indulge, consume, thought-less monster,
What it feels like, it ought to be,

It should,
Really it should,

Stop being so technical,
Is any of this a pulitzer prize?

So stay awake this time and feel this too,
Be a part of me, and burn,
Break apart in me, and squirm,
Above all, question again if you could,

That way you suffer as much as you can,
By wondering, what life you could have lived instead,

Oh, and my imagination runs wild,
And my good old friend stares at me,
Sunken cheeks of discipline,
Still wanting a cape,

How I missed it all,
This life, this person,
This sleep, this night,

And it chokes me to death,
To remember just what it was that left me broken,
I can still feel every wracking, soul wrenching heave,

The wick burns to nothing,
Scorched to both ends,
Should have tucked in,

Ideas won’t make you feel any better.

None at all.

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