The act of writing is ephemeral,

[enjoy]

Desperate. I'm electrified,
Transcribing my emojions
Into the vacant text field.
Completely fluid and cerebral,
Unlike any other action
I typically take on.
Curled croissant like,
Defying back and tendon aches,
Thoughts transmogrify
Into visual formation.
All day, suffering this mind's
Prison, but when I write, I am
Conductor not passenger.