Now I know it’s called “flow”
And I feel like I have something to mourn
To have been born with such a cranium
Often torn
Oscillating wildly between ecstatic and forlorn
Diagnosis, politely, please
Cure unlikely to put it lightly

What others call divine inspiration
When I find it in me
I frantically check my many medications
Lest I find myself trapped in an unwelcome vacation
Bitch to a malicious machination
I know this
Yet still the temptation

Oh what bliss
So much bliss
Of course I reminisce!
How do I even begin to explain this?
(In quasi rhyme no less)
How at the edge of the cliff
Just before the crash and burn
(And I do mean burn
The weeping wax of Icarus like butter in a churn)
How perched on that precipice
Is higher than any other high gets

Dirty secret
I yearn for it
Because I feel more alive
Imbued with purpose
Permeated with confidence
In need of no reassurance
Because, see, I am extraordinarily God-kissed
Not just bliss, but bliss spurning action
No doubt culminating in Greatness
Rapid-fire synapses conjuring irrefutable evidence
It’s perfectly obvious
We are all connected
And I’m The Harbinger of Harmony
I can see it so clearly
Until my mind cracks into fragments
For the whole damn world to see

So while other artist’s celebrate heightened states of productivity
Of both quantity and quality
For me that divinity is but a symptom of a disease
I tell you I’d pay any fee for that breed of freedom
To reach that high without repercussion
By some miracle skip over the corresponding concussion
Even so, I could argue,
It’s not all for nothing

Because when grey and white matter
Misbehave in just the right way
The words flow faster than water
Slick sick quicksilver literary alchemy
I bow at the alter
Understand, these words,
I’m a captive at their mercy
I am possessed and I am driven
I am nothing but a slave to them

And happily so
For a time

But it makes sense
That this kind of lit-up existence
Is completely unsustainable
In every instance
The price that you pay is monstrous
A life in shambles, shame and unbearable embarrassment
So in the end I tow the line
So that I may be responsibly Normal
It kills me because when my dreams begin to seem actually attainable
Dutifully I trudge to the doctor

“Still”, says this endearing devil
(It holds a pen and sits on my shoulder),
“Maybe next time you’ll play with fire
And pretend for everyone
That your reality remains unremarkable.”