This is a new feat. Deep in the middle of the night, during the ticking of wee hours, I wrote a decent poetry even if efavirenz is raping my nervous system. I feel drunk. I feel woozy. I feel high; but the words flow like tap.
No, not like tap. I still have to search for them. But searching for the words does not take long as I can feel them rough on my fingertips. With eyes closed, the words palpitate and jump into syllabicated thoughts. Syllabicated thoughts stacked into one verse. A verse rested on another. Until the thought came full circle, interwoven.
Efavirenz is screwing my head better than alcohol does. Well, I don't drink too much alcohol in the first place. I've never thought that that chrome-colored pill would commandeer Lady Muse and order her to sit in front of me as I write. I have to stop. I am talking gibberish. This is midnight madness.
P.S. Kids, don't try this at home.
Thinking about it the morning after, I think if you should try it, kids, do it in the comforts of your home.