An epiphany is something I now consider an antiquity; and relentlessly I have sought, a productive, unstoppable train of thought. But to no avail. Instead my words hit the page like Hell-hail; and it must sound tell-tale, But I still feel frail because I spilled my entrails onto this page and all i have are a few lines and a violent rage that can't be quelled until I'm known for poetic grace. Am I crazy? Did that sound sane? I have no idea; I have a strange brain.