Mindless

I can't sleep. I guess my mind is running wild again.

What's does that mean? I don't know, my friend.

I wish I had the words, or the courage or the wisdom.

I wish I had the confidence, the security, and the freedom.

To speak my mind and speak it well, to let you know but not just tell.

Because words can say a lot when they cooperate

But sometimes they're hard to situate.

I don't know why, but somehow I feel like the real deal is never a deal and those who steal it will find that the seal it was supposed to come with is broken, and there's nothing they can do about it.

And so they cry about it.

They cry tear after tear and don't care that their make-up is smeared like an abstract art painting that was never revered.

The thoughts in my head bounce off the walls of my skull like it's a trampoline, and the thoughts aren't aware that they're trampling on my mind, and that takes a toll.

A toll that which was never sold and never settled for less than half the price of gold it adds up.

And before you know it, I've ripped my mind apart, I overflowed it.

With the thought of what if—but I—do you think—should I have—'s you would think by now I'd learn to shut my mind up.

But it won't.