3:95 a.m.

Minds full
Then there's no room to pour it out
A lesser degree
Confiding in me
But I am chained to the wall

Love isn't a verb anymore
It's a common noun, constructively abused 
And ever so non existent
Transformed into a shapeless orb 

"the hour is nigh" I once said
But the box violently shook out it's remnants 
Even after I had shut it as tightly as I could
Well, maybe it was not my best work

The number 23 doesn't exist 
Anxiety liberates that questioning
But we all do what we want
And nothing anyone says influences any persons 
Actions
Ever 

My mind is over flowing at this late hour, but aye, yet again I have no place to store it's contents


-bw