things to do when in Somnia

I'm up in bed sitting, trying to figure out what keeps my head splitting. There's no need to steady feed into the thoughts that seek henny so they can become bleak pennies, funneled, spiraling towards a black hole. When it falls thru finally you can hear the clank, rests in the collection tank amongst the same word but not verbalized, get it? In my words I hide multiple meanings, meeting ends, for example, is where the murder lies. Killin time and myself but in return I earn eatings, and the burden climbs higher on my shoulders, soon to reach the crown and settle down til it imprints it's presence in the form of a circle. Leaves my scalp barren and around the wasteland are tall prairie grasses lacking the pizazz of the past but that's expected of roots a lifetime old, hardly tension if you pluck or pull individual strands. A minimal man is what's being mistaken as bland, it's true to a point sure but behind the blank stare after a joint occurs enough activity to keep my attention concerned, internally designing a universe with depths I can't fathom, super novas to the atoms. I'm hot or cold, a stupor or up and at 'um. I got a hold on the concept of death, I guess it's got a hold on me. A looper, bored of plans, I lack 'um. I'm not braggin, in fact I'm hoping you have some I can borrow for the evening, and tomorrow too if you'd appease me. Pretty pretty please, I kneed to the floor in front of the one who's key I adore, I try to sing every chord on pitch, switch forth and back. Of course impacted are my actions on her reaction. I want to taste every inch of her fraction with a kiss applied in passion. I miss those eyes, every lash 'n shape they make when she smiles. I'm going apes and bananas, I can't take what fate has to hand us. Then again, I can, because it's back to where the lakes are greatest, my personal promise land, honey shakes and mana. My honey crisp, not a peach from Atlantis. I beseech thee to seek me if I'm lost tho because I'd hate to become a fossil, cease to grow and that process takes chance and perfection, conditions exceptionally expected but not likely, good luck finding my complete recollection. There're none like me is what we've been told to think, that concept is taking us to the brink in a time where community is the preserver against sinkin. Do for me a favor and drink in the fountain of truth, then we can discuss the repercussions when weaponless youth are gunned down for steppin too close to the blues. Sick to my stomach guns so casually used increasing casualties, tombs, and vacancies in rooms of homes not houses, devoid now of siblings and spouses. This is more than a pick up game between shirts and blouses, don't give a f**k either about your goddamn couches. I admit though that I skip out too when it's time to get off of it, like an old man who's already seen valleys, mountains, and where his coffin'll sit. That's my obstacle, realizing to enjoy a popsicle you gotta tolerate the hot 'n cold. Do nothing at all or become actively involved. Forget all about the past or aim for total recall. Why do I deserve the role? Well although I've never taken a course in acting, it comes naturally to act like someone I'm not. In fact as time's been passing I'm beginning to understand plots aren't written, but watched first. Perseverance is a quality of character I've not conditioned, a lot's been missin. But i think i understand both logic and ill, the difference between moppin and spills. A little laughter is what helps me get thru the bluest days, unstrung the noose and the fluid stays contained in the veins. The absence of Lois Lane is killin me though, more than the kryptonite, what'd I'd do just to have her in my crib tonight. But with a lid this tight I can preserve the memories, fresh til death, nothing will spoil the chemistry. What comes next for a sparrow with no nest or mission on the road to perdition, this is the question that keeps me guessin