The Fever Spreads

The Fever Spreads I am slipping. Not slowly but faster than expected. I wanted it to go better. I made a plan and have a goal. It has not worked out. Writing, penning, grinning... Crying, sighing, and not dying. Words, dancing across my desk on fire. Some have already drowned, and I have not even filled my glass, with wine or water. Emotions doing battle, laughing and swimming on a lake, somewhere else... not here. "Come back, and take me... with you." A feather out of ink, a quill without blood, to spare the wicked and the good, from boredom. Flicking boogers, eating crickets, and wondering how many people are waiting at the door, of the cell, they have put me in? Are the walls made of brick and mortar, or even paper... like the tigers in china, that come in many colors, and have no teeth to bite, only gums to chew...? The few remaining pieces of my brain, left after the party, that should have taken place, at the docks, have pooled together, and become a new species of wild animal, trying to get out of the cage. Oh my, worse yet... this is beginning to make sense.