My Muse

My dearest muse comes and goes as it pleases. Meanwhile, my brain struggles to remain sane. My hectic schedule crushes my heart with swift cruelty, leaving me bleeding to death in the Acropolis of my turbulent inferno. I hunger for a minuscular spot of hope; nevertheless, the impossibility is more clear than the priceless diamond. My muse must return and stay. She is the reason I’m still alive and sane. She is the ventriloquist to the exterior of my world. As I write, my words stumble and my hands tremble. Ocarinas, sarcastic, laugh. The seagulls, once my friends, fly away. My neurons escape through the axon of my affliction. My existence will become non existence if its presence fades; and my ancestral soul will concave in a comatose stage, for good.

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