I wrote this poem about a year and a half ago between 3 and 4 in the morning. At the time I was frequently waking up in the middle of the night and writing was the only thing that soothed me…  
​Restless, another night starts to feel sleepless/ or rest less and do more just to sleep less/ counting on my dreams being shapeless n sheepless/ I can’t sleep with any vague sense of weakness/ the ups and downs of life, living steepness/ following my thoughts as they plummet into deepness/ so it’s dark here on the outer edge of bleakness/ but you see your true colors if you bleach less/ I know you don’t branch out when you reach less/ but I stay to myself just so I can speak less/ and hear it when all of these voices go speechless/ people talk, I just wish that they’d preach less/ I already have my own thoughts set to ceaseless/ looking at your past isn’t necessarily a regress/ but seeing window pain does not make it egress/ I want to let the kid in me out but it’s indoor recess/ there’s no one to play with, trapped in your own uniqueness/ in my mind I hide any weak thoughts of meekness/ running in my head, horses at The Preakness/ racing each other and rapidly approaching another thesis/ my own thoughts move me, telekinesis/ if time is money and you cannot lease this/ then let the mind wander around leashless/ because like thoughts many  breakthroughs are capricious/


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