Interrupting bittersweet nostalgia as the music spins on
The sharp spark of the mind sending me far from the song
Inspiration strikes just a hairpin outside
the tip of my tongue as I twist to grasp on for the ride
Insomnia devours me, 4 am, I'm vividly awake and in the height of day I'll long for slumber
Caffeinated and exhilarated, half-asleep, your attitude, stubborn, grounds me, makes me humbler
Your perfectly executed teases leave me in a wild flurry of distraction
Keeping me awake, exponentially increasing the initial attraction
Distract the mind in conversing with the unbiased stranger
Mindlessly flip through a book you've thrice read before, the story familiar as that of the baby born in a manger
Ashes of cigarettes and incense arouse a hunger for the times barricaded away in the blackest parts of memory
Suffocate the longing in pointIessly acute body modifications dedicated to the swinging emotions lent to me
Infection is out of the question, living being the real intention to live and feel
Pain sorrow and hatred more importantly unadulterated happiness and that shifty word love that breaks or seals the deal
The heartbeat of a song faintly drifts from forgotten headphones, barely alive
Neglected papers clutter the floor, angsty remainders of artistic attempts, too imperfect to survive
Finished projects always need improvement in the artist's critical eye
Over analyzed thoughts plot the path my pen will take but more often than not my pen doesn't comply
Whether it's a picture or words on paper or in song
Nothing has a conclusion without those sections being wrong
Is it too short or too long?
Second thoughts on staying up all night, all night long but it's too too late, too early to turn back now
Turn back time, no, I'd leave time alone even if I knew how
Cause time stops for no one, infinity is a nice thought but baby you're infinitely far from being infinite
So make the most of our time here, don't forget to breathe, just live in it
My thoughts may be full of wishes and memories and secrets and parentheses and subtext and deceit
But my sleep deprived mind possesses enough creativity to decorate any blank sheet
Intentions are pure but inspiration is tinged with the accumulated black of the night
Especially infuriating is the lack of separation between uncorrupted black and pristine white
The bleak shades of gray claiming matter in the head keeping the host conscious in a somnambulatory daze
The intoxicating process of thought sending any hint of exhaustion up in a contagious blaze
Sleep is a nuisance of the gray infected mind.
Conscious or unconscious, thought process will always be an infinite maze with solutions, it seems, I may never find.
