It’s Late

I am not ready for sleep. To quiet my brain and tame my mind and wander off into uncontrolled phantasmagoria. There is more thinking to be done, and no time in the glaring day to roll ideas through my head without tin drums and cymbals crashing through daydreams, like waterfalls of unwelcome rain.

My mind is not my own in the day – my thoughts are paid for by someone else. 

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