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About Insomniak

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    Doesn't Sleep!

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  1. Glass

    as i write this
    in my sleep deprived nightmare
    i think of a place
    that exists in my head
    and a girl
    who is a hollow shell of a human
    and her name is crystal
    and she is like glass
    and you can look right through her
    while looking at her
    and if you try to touch her
    you will break her
    and she will shatter
    and you will never be the same
    but you will have released her
    and she will haunt you until the end of your days
    to the very ends of the earth itself
    because she knows no boarders
    and with these parting words
    her minions will tie you up
    and throw you to the weather
    so you must be very careful not to break her
    she is so fragile


    there is a city
    far in the distance
    you can almost see the lights
    and the buildings
    with the people inside
    and they are dancing
    and the lights flicker
    as people leave the parties
    on the very top floors
    wearing fine mink coats
    and ivory canes
    the lights flicker
    and you are not there


    within the arms of affection
    the noises and alarms of the outside world
    blissfully filtered
    by embrace
    of the opposite to you
    the coiled dreams of the sleep-chamber twisted in wry agony
    four posts, zero alignment
    there is no cosmic anomaly here
    it is completly
    and utterly
    beyond any recognition of what you and I would percive as unordinary
    and yet makes perfect sence to the blind masses
    as it floats away, uninhibited
    no restraints on this balloon
    oh no, you'll never catch me now
    a strain, and we sink into another low cloud
    the fog filling our noses with unindomitable youth
    of another age come and gone
    the ravings of the raving
    and the screams of the tortured
    a steady stream of molasses and conciousness spun like confections
    and then is heard no more
    yes i know i stole that from shakespere


    barley audible whispers on the air
    felt by a thousand thin flowers
    and the vast feilds of recycled lard and carnality
    where even great purges cannot cleanse this mortal shell
    and mining underneath wirey tunnels of crimson avenged
    by a beehive of compression
    hexagonic dots on a boarder of decay
    and what beneath that
    the brimstone on the shore
    on the flatfeilds of eternity
    no, yet more conciousness pouring upon the great flights
    of what you had always hoped and assumed was the truth
    but was an elaborate ruse
    to trick you into fleeing your master's homestead
    so damn you and your incorrigable hearts of grass and hay
    you will never receive
    in a century thricefold
    what you expect will be on the way posthaste


    Twice the great poets fought over irrationability and vebosetry
    and yet although they spew liquid intelegance and pure ridicule all over their fine clothes
    they will never ever agree on what makes the fundamental basics of death
    is it a lack of conciousness and morallity
    or a lucky visit from the harpy of antilife
    burnt fingers rub on a sticky sickly pole
    of matter and mind combined
    splinters of food lodged in our ears, ever attently listening for intruders
    pain in a place you would not usually associate with such