Since when did I have this?

This kind of feeling, an unknown desire,

slowly churning, flaring like an ignited fire.

A sleeping flame inside of me,

that I seemed not to be aware of.

Now, it's awake, in a havoc.

I can't seem to tame it, nor it can be controlled.

Like a possessed being, my mind won't stop,

Pen and paper on hand, images and scenery started to hop.

In a room, locked and alone,

like a mad scientist,

I create worlds, monsters, beings like they really exist.

At the back of my head, they talk to me

or in the corner of my bedroom.

They whisper, so sweetly, from the gloom.

So I have to write them, fast as I can.

Or else they would hunt me even in my sleep.

Begging me to tell their stories, chronicles from the deep.