Man, I have literally been up for over a full day now. Though it was necessary, I'm tired out...this is it for the posting right now. Peace to everyone, talk with ya later or something like that. I'm going to bed.

Running on Empty
January 13, 2003

Running on 24hrs of no sleep,
Feeling like my head is light and my soul is floating,
Calling me to join it in that land where it resides,
While I hang in the balance of life and death,
That in-between called sleep.

But the bug has gotten a hold of me.

You know what bug I’m talking about,
That writing one,
That fills your brain in the late now hours,
That compels you to write and write and write,
Even though you can barely think straight.
That bug that pulls the soul back in and makes it,
Power the body despite the fact,
You faculties are shutting down,
And your brain has become a haven,
For illicitness and empty thoughts.
Still it pushes, it pokes, it prods, it digs and burrows,
Finding some meat still laced to your bones,
Picking them clean and then cracking them open,
Making you dig into the marrow of your existence,
For some profound word to share or thing to say,
That will lure or impress others to your view,
Or simply cause you to feel justified,
That it’s finally out.
You can’t rid yourself of this vibe, this flow,
That this thing causes, because you’re poetry,
Every part of you is speaking constantly,
Words fill your head upon command,
And you must write!
Until finally, you can find nothing to write about,
And everything is gone; you are dry and diminished,
A light with out electricity,
Finally making it to exhaustion,
After running on empty.