These projects, ideas, my passion, my pain-They flush through me, a virus, art takes over-each vein . I feel sick, it consumes me, there can be no other way. I can’t procrastinate, my death, would be at the end of an idle day. My mind, these little spiders, they crawl, they creep. Until I succumb to the venom of creativity, they persist, their power- she is deep. My head aches, the anxiety, she chokes and now I’m falling. Into the deep, the ocean, my dreams, they’re calling.