Great, foreboding thoughts exercise and perspire into my being.
Every form of consciousness sojourns from one crevice to another.
Ultraviolet flares with vivid rays peek through my budding mind.
Immense electricity and excitement course through as if agreeing.

I feel the water rushing through and in turn I feel the adrenaline.
Craving the soul's infestation from which comes the best literature.
I want to take my thoughts and dance with them in ripped dresses.
My fingers ache and cry to write, it entices me, it is menacing.

I hug my core and reassure her even in the deepest of midnights.
Asphyxiation grips every sense and licks my skin on all sides.
They come out as aggravated threads of yarn crawling for safety.
The petrichor hanging overnight, I wish to know what caused this.

Do the other Greek poets ever ponder what just to write?
For in Greece whatever they will, it might as well be right.