A hum-soft-scratch
Of conflicting ideologies.
Bipolar by nature,
Changing its mind,
In foreign rhythms.
It's voice:
The tone you take
When you no longer care
About the things
You tried to do
While the sun was up.
Tomorrow, tomorrow
It whispers in the dark,
Begging you to press in
And feel it's power.
It wants to swallow you whole
In hues of soft blue,
In hopes you'll refuse to sleep
And negotiate the terrain
Of your black box brain.
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