Late Night Philosophy
There isn't much to write about. My life is uneventful. My imagination has long gone turned to lies.
I can't sleep in 'til 9 am. And my eyes never close 'til then. So let's just say, the clocks have been despised.
I'm feeling this sensation. It’s neither hot nor cold,
A neutral fixation, but my God; its getting old.
I want to dream again. And have gumption and reason.
Goals are filled with non-purposeful voids, such treason.
Trespasser. This distaste has an after-bite.
Sting to tongue, a heavy dislike.
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