I'm so pissed, I never rest, the night seems to put my mind to the test. When the sun leaves its footprints across the sky, night falls, and my mind beckons me to come inside. I'll debate myself, I'll ask questians why, and then the thoughts begin to fly. Thoughts that are like water. They may be as deep as the ocean, yet all I see is a pond. Maybe they're an image of things beyond. Tiny peeks into the magic 8-ball that god presents to me at three in the morning. I wish that I could have these thoughts in the light of day, when I could turn them into something to say. Yet the thoughts come at night, like an army. Thoughts, not in single file but in rows and battalions. The legions are deployed as they lay waste to the countryside. Thoughts, they shoot through in every direction like bullets throughout a body, leaving only fragments behind. I stagger on a tightrope between heaven and hell, the ecstasy of creativity but the agony of fatique. My dilemma is that the view from above is just as pleasing as the one beneath. But finally, when I lay my weary head down, all of the nights clever thoughts fall out of my ear and on to my pillow, where they melt like raindrops in the sun.
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