It came gushing out of you
in the middle of the night
or in day light, time doesn't
matter to it.
It kept you up for most of it
awake, aloof and attentive
to your surroundings.
It dribbled out of your body
stemed from your soul, with
no warning, just as the winds do
just as the fires
eat the forests.
When you sat at your bed
listening to the summer crickets
and people laughing about
lazy topics such as the weather
or the women or the football
score, it was there, you just
don't notice.
It felt as it should, with no
explanation nor a regard for
what you, he or she thought.
It had its own rhythm and rhyme.
When it was at its best, it made
you happy, and the opposite
applies.
It stained your canvas and
littered your bedsheets.
One would argue that the cigarettes
were meant to keep one out of it.
I may have been talking
about Love, Writing or ***.
Whichever came close to your mind,
consider it the topic.