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Noise. I lay down to sleep. The congregation in my head grows louder. Amplified chaos Rings aloud in my fragile skull. Quasimodo pulls the string in the belltower, cringes. I cant help but do the same. I think of you, and the throng grows Wilder, Antagonized by further thoughts of God-forsaken Misery. Egged on by the scent of a soul Broken. I feel like Im being Cleaved Every which way. Each part of me trying to pick up the pieces, As I decay all the while. Standing at the crossroads Of seemingly thousands of avenues, I realize Ive lost my map Somewhere along the way. Somewhere between the Broken goodbyes, Failed communication, And false pretenses. So I continue. Each step along the avenue I choose Brings a new thorn in my side. Logic becomes meaningless. The ceiling molding spells my Name in a jagged font, Urging me away from sleep. I watch apathetically As God and Buddha Roast marshmallows over The flames of the Book of Life. Shrugging, I wipe the ashes off my eyelids And drift into my unconscious...

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This is a poem about someone having trouble sleeping, and while he lies in bed he explores the absurd depths of his conscious and unconscious mind before he drifts off.




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Votes: 6
Views: 1,093
Date: 1/14/11
Other: Writing