I fill it up and hope it won’t burst, the irresistible urge I still feel but cannot appease, worst in the morning when I wake from dreams I only then realize ARE dreams, then again at night when I ought to know better, even if the ache for it is the same, both things putting a face to it, and being inspired by it, the need to go as far as I can, to satisfy all I can, before the illusion like a mirage fades, and I am left to my own resources, to rub it all out as hard and fast as I can before it fills up, and risks bursting, worst in the morning after it has had all night to build up inside of me.
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