Muse

  Sitting here, I had forgotten what it was like to feel.  Beyond descriptive emotions or words, something that leaves you affected but puzzled.  It hit me with every catastrophe my mind could encounter… delay, loss of memory, repression, confusion, lack of adaptation… Somehow my functional self fell back into the child representation that could only experience but never understand.  I somehow find that with the raising of the veil, my thoughts are flooding in as if they were seeking salvation. 

 Feeling was one thing I had down to a science, and expressing those twists and turns was a gift most shyed away from but I delved inside of.  It comforted me, especially the pain, it was my guarentee to be alive, my insurance when i felt I had nothing understood.  But when your mistress is Suffering, its only a matter of time before she destroys the very foundation you were trying so hard to escape but needed desperately to exist.  Just a fleeting moment I had assured myself I was in control of the relationship, and just as fleeting, my hold was dissipated into a mere memory. 

 Suddenly my muse was my master and I its slave… relying on its pity and wishing for its humanity.  My eyes went blank and my soul went silent.  No longer could i let out my screaming words on paper, no longer could I let loose my burning tears, no longer could i embrace the uniqueness of my burden.  I was forced to keep it all inside, while being completely numb to its very existence.  There was luster in my sorrow, but now dullnes was my reflection.  At least when I embraced my agony I had something to hold on too, but without it I was falling into a canyon where the waking no longer appealed to me.  I could not feel a connection to anything, anyone, or anywhere.  Seperation from the living and barely remembering to continue breathing.  The labor of it all was intensifying my need to drown in nothingness. 

But now im here, with all my storms rushing over me at once.  Darkening my vision, and casting chaos internally and all around me.  For two years I was sedated into submission, giving up my everything to fit in their norm.  They understood me grey, it was less challenging to see me grey.  No one can stare at swirling variations of black without wishing at somepoint the movement would stop… they preferred my blackout.  They saved me from nothing, because here i was devastated by a trigger, something they could not foresee, they could not plan for, they could not stop.  It broke me free from the restrictions of their walls, but with my muse free, nothing inside me could process if there was anything to fall onto.  Two years had erased my end, my floor… now i could not handle its intensity, I could not harness to any medium.   Nothing was worthy here…

Nothing was worthy here… for the love I used to bleed for them… no one was worthy here…

And just as i stand here thrusted into life again, my muse has called a different path.  And as her slave I bow down to her selfishness, to be the center of my thoughts… and since I could no longer bare her burden of beautiful depression… she whispered her request…

From the prodigy of pain’s expression, to the lover of glorified darkness… to the statue of civilized acceptance… to the broken heart of recovered awareness… ending as the martyr of one muse’s resistance to the unworthy fight for life.

Words and Photo Created By:  E Sepulveda