It will bubble beneath the skin. You scratch at the sores hoping to release the pain, but escape wasn’t meant for you. They’ll taunt with a line, maybe even a stanza; never truly giving relief. The clichés will pour across white like blood at a crime scene. You’ll look at the evidence, each clue as though it was gold, but the answers you find are screens. They fog over truth with an elegance and conviction that keeps you spellbound.
There’s a song hidden somewhere in the break. Something lonely and soulful, but it’s not yours. Just another clue holding you or that you hold too tightly. If you were willing to look beyond, gather them all to make a whole, perhaps sense could be made. But the details captivate and the bigger picture was never of interest. So you’ll listen to the song again, hoping to pull from beneath the flesh those things that haunt; like victims of a crime they’ll whisper from the beyond. Still, the fog jumbles all the words and you aren’t in the mood to hear.
Though this is a journey, have you considered not all is meant for the page? Sometimes we must stand back, allow the mind to reform and recharge. Inspiration is fickle; there’s a time when talent isn’t enough. The universe needs a moment to move forward as do the words. If you take a breath, if you let the Muse run through fields of pleasure and pain; she’ll return to you with stories that will give thoughts to the pen and peace to the flesh. And you’ll once again make sense of this thing we call life for all of us. Because in the end, you are the Muse we seek out.
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