What you do to me my Muse

Have you ever experienced your muse pushing words into your brain but you couldn't write them fast enough? Your brain starts to fill with words that twirl around, forming different things then they were supposed to. But you still need to write them because you start to feel sick. You start to feel anxious. The more you try to ignore it, the strong the words get. The only way to relieve the pain is to keep writing, appease your muse.

Get her words onto paper before you forget. Get out her words before they wrap around your heart, tugging tighter until you can no longer breathe. Write as fast as you can, or else your heart will clench. The anxieties will set in. The words won’t come. They’re sitting on the tip of your tongue. But as best as you try, the words won’t come. They have wrapped around your brain and began to retreat into the dark. They will hide in the back of your mind, waiting until you can’t take it anymore. Write as fast as you can.

The words are your double edge sword. Their beauty flows onto the paper as your hand spasms and you try to quit. Your muse keeps pushing the words; she will overfill your brain. You become exhausted and want to stop. She will push more. The words will twist and form into new pieces. You must write them down! It is the most frustrating and painful experience, yet it is the most exhilarating. The rush of hormones surging through your body as your hand touches pen to paper and the scenes in your head are finally conveyed on paper. It is a magical thing to watch words fill page after page, yet you can never keep up.

You could type but your muse refuses and will disappear if you touch the keyboard. You must write it all. Your head starts to pound and your eyes will strain, but you have to keep going. You are slave to your muse as she fills your head once more. The words will not stop. Poems and stories overtake your pages, filling them with scenes of love and hate. The pages fill with imagery of that special night together. Fill with words to convey the need and want you are experiences. Your muse forces you to continue, to ignore that feeling of pain as it hits your wrist. You can do it; she whispers to your mind, you must do it. You cannot disobey; she is your Mistress and you are hers. Stopping will only make it worse.

The words start to wrap around you, holding you in your seat. They have become rope, binding you to the page. The words are overflowing from your head, was someone just calling me? Your muse pulls you back, she tells you to ignore it and just continue. The ringing in your ears starts and forces you to write more. You cannot disappoint her. She comes and goes as she pleases. You have to stop. The anxiety sets in again. Do. Not. Stop. The words have wrapped around your heart again and begin to pull. The only way to relieve the pain is to keep writing. The only way to appease her is to get her words onto paper. It is only when she is satisfied that the anxieties will leave. It is only when you have gotten the thoughts on paper that she will loosen the rope and let you go. You cannot sleep until she is satisfied.  She is your Mistress, you must obey.

Your wrist starts to spasm, but you press on. She has wrapped her arms tightly around you, pushing your hand onto the paper. Keep going. We are not done, she whispers softly into your ear. The hair on your neck stands. You need to stop but the pain worsens when you do. More pages are filled with the words. You hope that she will be appeased and let you stop, but you must continue on. More scribbles fill the blank page. The words start to wrap around your brain again; they slide down to your throat and down to your chest. You drop the pen to take a break and the pain sets in. Your head begins to pound as your chest tightens.

You let the pain overtake you. You muse tightens the words around your throat, pulling your head back to her. She is in your ear, whispering threats if you do not finish. Your breathing quickens as you squirm in your seat. You know you are alone, but it feels as if she is there. Your muse whispers more threatens and forces the pen back into your hand. Your mind is blasted with scenes of bodies pressed together in bed, scenes of being thrown down on the bed and straddled by a familiar body. Your hand tightens around the pen as it scurries across the page. The pain is subsiding. We are almost done, she whispers sweetly into your ear. You push yourself to finish. Your muse has finally become appeased.