It can overtake you, if you’re not careful.
That little bug, that tightly sealed jar that cracks with every move
and is just waiting for a chance to burst open
and flood the carpet with alphabet shapes that form words,
sentences, scenes, chapters,
faster than you can say, ‘I’ll just get in five minutes’ work before bed.’
Oh, what a lie. A page full of typed lies
that keep you from realising the time until
the strikes of midnight–no, I stand corrected–two in the morning.
Thank you brain, for that mad dash of creativity.
No, I mean it.
The pages would be crisp and white forever without you.
Treeshallow Musings 