Self-owing

I always have ideas, although I know
They're often bad, and shouldn't have been thought;
Yet still I find I cannot let them go,
Even those that came to me unsought,
But must express them, write them, let them see
The light of day, if only for a second,
That they, like I, may dream eternity,
Refuse to let reality to be reckoned
And stare into the infinite abyss
That is our own mortality and end;
I somehow feel that I might owe them this
That am their thinker and their only friend.
So I will ramble on and on and on
Until the thoughts I owe this to are gone.