~Unknown Muse~

I feel I must write. What, exactly, is still a mystery. But if I don't my muse will keep me up, 'Til finally I pass out from exhaustion. I hear her in my mind's ears, but I can not understand her. her whispers are much to soft and far away. Maybe I have forgotten how to listen. Perhaps I have ignored her for to long and now I have forgotten how to return. Everything I write, a short paragraph or short story, none has any feeling like once upon a time. I grow weary staring at the blank pages and hearing nothing of an echo of a story or line as once before was a wave of words so loud I could not hear the roar of cars as I typed or wrote. I feel alone without the echos of characters more real and loved than true friends and family. I miss hearing the sad ramblings of love lost or torn away from some unknown girl in a time and place only remembered by me. Is this punishment a result of being happy? Does my gift leave me when my feelings of unhappy times and waring demons exhaust itself? My unknown and forgotten muse has left me with only her echoed whispers left in her wake. I am far to mentally tired to really care. So is my soul. Finally I have given up on all things that which brings normal people happiness. I am so far that I am rendered unable to end my life myself. All the better I suppose. Those who love me won't have to deal with pain of my untimely death. The fates have us all planned out and if we die, then it was time. Nothing is "untimely." I still miss my muse. I feel alone in my head with out her. My mind's eye is closed and I am left with out ideas to write and pictures to draw up and take from. Written March 10th, 2002 © on Mar 17 2002 08:13 AM PST   0 • 10