My Outbreak

[Gaywolf]

My Outbreak
by Gaywolf

I´m a volcano,
But not lava, rock, nor smoke
Do I spite,
But my eruption
Is of thoughts, word and sense.

For ever when I´m just writing
About my feelings, my life, or anything else,
By way of creating
poems, stories, essays, too,
The following happens to me:

They call it "flow,"
That´s when you
Don´t yet need to think
Of what you´re saying,
Of which you´re writing;
Rather and much more
The words start flowing
Right outta your mind,
And all you gotta do
Is go with the flow,
While your hands,
They´re doing the work themselves.

"My outbreak,"
I wanna call it hence,
So ecstatic a moment,
As I´m not just flowing
But overflowing
With this many and more
Ideas, drafts, and concepts,
Which I realize
At once
And write them down
Till at last
The work is done.

And then I´m fine,
And lemme end
In telling you
It´s like a rush,
Cos such mania of ceration
Makes really pretty high
And quite addictive!

© Gaywolf