When it comes it b lines directly to you on the dance floor. It is rude and disruptive and wants to be heard. You are accepting. When it comes your friends tell you to be careful. Quiet. Gentle. Smart. Patient. Strong. You’re sweating but it’s cold and you rush out of REM into a sort of reality that looks nothing like your waking life. When it comes it steps into your personal space and pushes its sweet tongue into your stiffened mouth.
A molesting hand grabs your heart and your ability to reason dissipates.
When it comes you break into a fever that even your mother with her half-ass indigenous remedies cannot cure. She will tell you to sleep it off and you do. You sleep forever knowing that to be awake is really only an excuse for giving up on creativity. Because it’s okay to be ridiculous. It’s okay to believe that you were born a genius that was accidentally dropped on the head as an infant.
It came to me tonight; tonight turned into morning and here I am trying desperately to make the most of what