Thoughts that race through the mind,
forming ideas and impressions as they rummage through those dark hidden memories

Memories that never see the light of the day, or the tip of the tongue,
their yearning pleas to be heard and listened, go unnoticed,
among the vast amount of spillage otherwise let out.

Banished into the deepest and darkest crevices of the brain,
those poor children of a sinister mind, wait for their night…

Night comes, and when the conscious sleeps,
they take over, spewing their fermented ideas out
taking shape of visuals and sounds never seen, only felt

This is their time, their realm, this is when I sleep.