The Fever Of Words

 

   There are times when my fingers hit the page, and I feel I am no longer human;
   when the chaos within my mind focuses into to a steady stream of words imbued with the power to change me. To shape me.
   It's as though I transcend from my body and into another state of consciousness. Where another spirit gently folds over me; taking my essence and in those moments--or minutes, electrifying the very blood within my veins.
   The words are my kryptonite and my solace; and It's within them that I find I am truly in love, body and soul. I cannot be without them, no matter the hour; and it is because of this that I fear them, at times even hate them. Words. Because how can you fully love the one thing that has implicit control over you? I bend to it's whims, not them to me. I cannot call to my fingertips the conscience that breathes life into my thoughts without this unseen power. At it's touch, I'm transformed into an undefinable zenith. As though some presence has passed into me, and shown me how it feels to be truly alive. It's addictive, enrapturing.
   Without it, I feel alone. I feel too human, too touchable and fragile. The strength within me dwindles into nothing more than a glowing memory. A memory I find myself stretching for everyday of my life. Every night, every morning. I crave that power, so much so that I can almost touch the sickness which cleaves to my heart.
The sickness for words, for feeling, for life.
The power to wield that force. One that I still cannot comprehend.

Because when I write, it is more than just me at a keyboard. It's the universe converging within the pandemonium of my mind, and turning it into something beautiful.

When I write, it's because the feelings possessing my soul are too much too bare. I string them against the paper, letting them leech themselves away from my being.

When I write,
It's because I love the feel of words coursing through my heart. Pumping awake my brain, and bringing life once again to my crippled eyes. I see things differently through the words, as though they are colored glass built by the possibilities of limitless imagination. I look through them and see a different world. I look through those words, and I know this is where I belong.

I belong within this reality, a timeless capsule of artistry and transcendence.

When I write, 

it's because I'm in love with it.