One day I found a tale of old
whose name I'd known but failed to seek,
and reading it consumed my night
till I retired, satisfied,
but fell into such fevered dreams
as ne'er had I experienced
that when I woke did not depart
and haunted me throughout the day.
I went about my daily life,
in hopes my madness soon would end,
but fell into anxiety
with paranoia calling me.
I would not go; I could not stay.
I grappled with the rationale
that this was all a side-effect
of what I had consumed last night.
Eventually it did depart.
My thoughts regained their normal state.
But I cannot quite shake the thought
that something changed inside me then.
Beware the thoughts of writers who
would prick you with their wicked pens.
Beware the words of others, friend;
it will make all the difference.