This relates to how words call to us, find us and heal us, writing as therapy.
Can these morphemes
Serenade to me
This cellular longing, pursuing
A desperate charge
Visit me when I break
In this contemplative reach
Edit my thoughts as I tumble
Show me with my impetuous trend
Take me over, occupy me
As I strain to prepare for
The flicker, a brainchild
Flushed with an uncommon science
I’m growing accustomed to
Is it unhealthy for me to form such reliance?
This idolized nectar
That deciphers my hysteria
And appeases my compulsion
A delicious luxury?
In solace, this phantom, can it be more?
Or am I deluded in this philosophy
Call me up to the substance!
As I rabidly yen to address that revelation
Without, I fall on a mood to inescapably disintegrate
For it may be that’s the reprieve I’m watching for