Jack Kerouac would've loved this one...
A poem.

Poetry Prompt № 6.
Joy:
fleeting like a finch outside in a storm,
downright im-possible for me to sustain —
it runs like a cheetah after a gazelle in
the delirious wild, and dying desert — parched,
dehydrated,
desperately needing
your power to heal my Nihilism;
Fear;
Self-Loathing;
bedevilment at
…