Under My Bed

There are countless ideas
that drift through my head,
A legion of thoughts
that will dance 'til I'm dead

Thought Twelve fights with Four
over topics so vain,
like breats and vocation,
property and pain

Idea Three likes to scream
in the middle of the night,
pondering whether Six
is fallicious or right

From sun up to down,
Two remains truly askew
She nags in opposition
to all that I do

I put faces to numbers,
and count them like sheep
in the desperate hope
that I'll get some sleep

Their comings and goings,
I always meet with grim dread
I wish to box them all up,
and keep them under my bed

But they still whisper, argue,
and drift through my head...
A legion of thoughts
that will dance 'til I'm dead